Lost Love
by bo-leigh bella
Summary: As Raoul takes Christine away, she begins to regret leaving Erik behind. Can she reclaim her Angel, or will his disappearance keep them apart forever? ErikxChristine Raoul lovers stay away!
1. The Angel's Lament

**Hello, this is bo-leigh bella. This is my first attempt to write of my beloved Phantom. Raoul fans shield your eyes. Please let it be known that I do not own or have any rights to the Phantom movie, book, or musical. This is not a one-shot. Please review so I won't suffer writer's block.**

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><p>Christine stared ahead as she heard her beloved angel's final lamenting song. She flinched at each splintering crash that was followed by chimes of glass falling to the stone floor. <em>It's over now<em>. No, it couldn't be finished. _The music of the night, _her heart cried out. It cannot be, the melodies of the night should never end! Her mind ran back to the passionate songs he had taught her, the way he lived the music he wrote. Some people wrote music, he created masterpieces. Every time he played, every time he sang, she was transported into the notes and lyrics. But, he only did so for her, his muse, his light in the dark pit of a lair.

Silent weak tears fell down her alabaster skin. What am I doing? She wondered. How can I leave him, without me, he doesn't even have his songs. Nothing that is what I have left him, nothing at all to console his betrayed heart. Now he will suffer pain beyond endurance with no beauty, no light to distract from its potency.

"Christine, my love, why are you crying?" Raoul looked down into her face, worry casting a shadow over his countenance. Christine gazed up into the eyes of the man who just risked his life to save her. Why was she disappointed, mournful even, that he was taking her away?

"I… I am just… so relieved." Liar! Her mind shrieked it over and over. Instead of saying anything further, she leaned against Raoul's shoulder, needing strength that she did not possess. She felt exhausted, and her chest felt like it was caving in on itself. Was this the feeling of being brokenhearted? She remembered the last words he had sang directly to her, his beautifully intense green eyes boring into her very soul.

"Christine I love you." His rich velvety voice had overwhelmed her. And what had she done? Placed her would be wedding ring back into his large tanned palm. The devastation he reflected had made her wince as his pain became hers.

"Wishing…You were somehow here again." She couldn't stop the hushed whispers. The Phantom's greatest creation, her voice, lamented in the saddest tune to ever go unwritten.

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><p>Erik shattered the mirrors he had gazed into for years. He couldn't bear to see the monstrosity of his own face any longer. Of course Christine couldn't love him, what an ignorant fool he was. He had felt almost beautiful, almost worthy. The way her large brown eyes had gazed at him, he thought it was awe. Maybe his sick mind had twisted the picture to allow him to see what he wanted, what he needed. But then again, when she sang with him, nothing could describe the feeling, so vulnerable and so powerful. He felt the ghost weight of her hand upon his shoulder. He shuddered at the delicious memory.<p>

That kiss, how could Christine kiss him so completely, so passionately and feel nothing. Her lips against his had been nothing short of magical, wondrous. Never had someone dared to touch him so intimately. Why should they? Who would kiss the devil incarnate? Christine would. She had walked into his embrace with fear and uncertainty hanging between them, but the moment he tasted her lips all emotion fled, save intense desire. Her kiss had been so sweet so glorious, yet so seductive. A thousand feelings had overshadowed him. She did not stop at one. Her lips met his again and again, the salt of their tears intermingling. When she had backed out of his embrace, the joy within him turned immediately to searing agony.

He had endured a lifetime of pain, but no tortures he had suffered could compare to this monstrous agony. Moments ago he had everything he had ever wanted out of life, Christine. Allowing her to leave was the worst self masochistic torment he could ever imagine. He wanted her, needed her beyond any limits or reason. Loving her so much made him realize how much he hated himself for keeping her. What right did he have to keep such a perfect creature, especially against her wish? His heart bled as he watched her go. Nothing mattered anymore. All his genius, plotting, commitment, and talent did not earn her love. He had nothing left to give. She took his soul with her in that cursed boat.

Erik was only an angel with Christine. Now that she was gone, he sensed himself returning again to the wretched demon he was. "My darling, farewell," his voice choked on the goodbye.

"Wishing you were somehow here again." Christine? That was her sweet soprano tone floating on the air to him. What had she said? Was she speaking of him? Erik ran to the stairs of his landing and splashed into the river.

"Please, please sing something more to me. Anything," He begged brokenly, knowing she wouldn't be able to hear. The silence tore at him. "Christine!" He yelled, in anguish.

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><p>Christine awoke in the hotel suite Raoul had arranged for them to stay in. She donned her wrapper and walked softly to the vanity, hoping to cover the redness beneath her lids with powder. She had sobbed wildly when Raoul had retired to his own room, her heart fighting against her mind to return to her Angel. Mourning him seemed to drain her spirit. When she finally succumbed to sleep, the Phantom sang to her, lullabies to comfort her sadness. The discovery that it was only a dream dashed her hopes.<p>

When she had seated herself at the mirror, she froze. There on the counter was a red rose tied with black silk ribbon, accompanied by a sealed letter. She broke the wax seal carefully.

_My dearest Christine,_

_Within this letter I have enclosed the sheet music of my final song. My music was always yours as all of my being will remain. I sincerely hope that you find happiness in this life, no matter what form it is in. You will always be my angel; memories of our nights together will be treasured always. Thank you for them. I do not regret a single moment I have spent in your presence. I truly wish you may look back fondly on me one day._

_Forgive me for the times I have hurt you. I never meant to do something so devious as to harm your innocent heart. Of all the sins in my life, I hold that to be the blackest. I pray you forget those hurts and remember nothing of the dark violence I demonstrated, but only the gentle side that you and no other have seen._

_I have a final entreaty to ask. I know I presume too much to think I can ask anything of you. But please, never let anyone silence your mesmerizing voice, my darling. Through that lovely instrument, you will always be free._

_I have no certainty that I will able to remain in the Opera House. If I cannot, you will always find me hiding with in the shadows. However, I will not hinder or intrude in your life anymore. _

_Yours eternally, _

_Phantom of the Opera_

Christine stared at the letter in silence. If he left the Opera House, she might never be able to seek him out again. She was truly losing him, perhaps forever. The music had slipped out of the envelope and onto her lap. Picking it up, she read the pages, hearing the notes play out in her mind. The title rang with all of the accusing, sorrowful words her Phantom could not write in his letter. _Finale_: _Lost Love._

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><p>Erik heard the trampling feet descending his stairwell. He smashed the final mirror and stepped into the passageway hidden behind it. Drawing a curtain behind him, the Phantom ran along the tunnel. The exit led to where his ebony horse was hobbled. Grabbing the reins, he jumped atop the stallion and rode into the night that was as black and empty as his heart.<p>

He knew not where he would go or what he would do now. He knew only that he must find Christine before he did anything else. She was the only person on Earth worthy of the final piece he would ever compose.

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><p><strong>I know this first chapter was short, sorry, future ones should increase in length. Will Christine remain with Raoul? Or will the Phantom's final tune recapture her heart and soul once again? What will happen to Erik? Is his music truly dead? Read and review to find out! Please read through ch 7! You won't regret it.<strong>


	2. Hidden

**To all of my fabulous reviewers, I love you so much. Your support is making this story blossom. I hope I do not disappoint you. To WeLoveWeLive thank you for your help in reviewing and improving this tale. To past-the-point-of no-return, thank you for the advice about Raoul, lemme know how I did. **

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><p><em>Two months later<em>

Raoul took Christine away to Montpellier, a town in the southern part of France. It had confused him when she pleaded so vehemently to stay closer to the Opera that had been her home for so many years. Honoring her request, the couple found themselves settling in a townhome inside of Orleans. They weren't yet in the same bedroom of course, but the date was set for their wedding ceremony, six months and a week from then.

Christine kept her mind off the wedding by performing for Operas in the area. She made the excuse that Raoul wasn't very well provisioned for a family. She was going to make her own contribution. However she secretly hunted for the ecstasy music once brought her, yet the feeling eluded her grasp. Her pursuit of a career annoyed Raoul to no end. He wanted her to have faith in him.

"Christine, I can easily afford to take care of us plus the wedding. Do not exhaust yourself."

"Raoul, it isn't just for the sake of an income. Can you not see that I want to perform? When I sing, I feel like I am fulfilling my purpose in this world."

"But you're taking yourself away from me all hours of the day, the night as well sometimes. Could you not stand to remain here with your fiancée for a few moments?" His voice was saddened.

"You have not offered once to attend an Opera with me. How can you berate me so when you have made no effort to support my passion?"

"Your passion or His?" Raoul seethed angrily. Christine flinched as if he had struck her. Her voice came shakily when she finally regained her breath.

"Mine, he did not give me a love for music Raoul, only intensified my talent for it. He tutored me so I could pursue my dreams. I thought we were past all of this."

"Christine I am worried about you. Sometimes I feel as if he still has an evil influence over you."

"What of anything I said sounded the least bit evil? He did me a kindness Raoul and I do not wish to speak of him anymore!" Truly Christine couldn't, the conversation was breaking the lock she had kept on her memories. They were flooding into her mind now, the loss threatening to crush her.

"Well I wish to speak of it. Do you still have feelings for the ghost?" He had to know, wanted to be reassured that his bride loved him alone.

"I am going to be late."

She heard Raoul's voice chasing her out the door. "Well he is gone Christine. The old Opera House has been sold. It's sorry and abandoned and so is that poisonous Phantom!" He lashed out, not to hurt Christine, but out of his own pain. His wife to be clearly still cared about the man he loathed.

Christine's mind raced feverishly. Sold? Sold to whom? Was the Phantom still lurking in his underground palace? Did the angry mob find him? Where would he go? She had to find out.

"Oh my Angel, what has become of you?" She raced along the main street and into the night. She never noticed that she passed her original destination.

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><p>Erik stared at the sold sign over the Opera doors. It was simple to buy out the company. Since the disastrous night he performed with Christine, audience members feared the establishment. The rumors of the ghost had spread, eventually empty seats was all that filled the house. The previous owners had taken his first offer, desperate to be rid of the Opera. He had accumulated a stockpile of money writing Opera's and selling them. It barely made a dent in his account. He had a file of compositions he had written with Christine that he had yet to sell. The Phantom shook his head, no, he wasn't sure if he ever wanted to share his music again. Not even that which he had already composed. Opening the doors, he journeyed to her dressing room. All the flowers that had been so vibrant with color had wilted, their brown petals falling to the floor. That's appropriate he thought. Nothing is beautiful without her. Sitting at her vanity, he opened the single drawer, wondering if she ever saw fit to hide something there.<p>

His mouth fell open in astonishment and disbelief. Inside the cubby were dozens of black silk ribbons. All retied into perfect bows. Had she saved all of these? The notes she had stacked beside them bore his elaborate script. He fingered one of the ribbons her hands had touched. He gently laid it back into its resting place. He chanced to look up into her mirror. He had replaced his white mask once again. His piercing green eyes were reddening. Erik left her room; to remain so close to her memory would torture him. But then, this entire establishment was filled with Christine. He opened the mirror in her wall and descended back into his prison.

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><p>"May I be of service to you mademoiselle?" the young cab driver barely managed the question. The dark haired beauty before him tangled his tongue unbearably.<p>

"Yes, take me to the train station please." The gentleman helped her into the carriage and whipped the horse into a brisk trot. Alone with her thoughts, Christine began to question the sanity of her intentions. I am only going to assure myself that it has been sold. That is my only reason. No one called her out on the lie.

"Here we are." He carefully assisted her to the ground.

"Thank you." Christine ran into the station, barely making the train to Paris. When the train finally arrived she practically jumped out, almost snagging her red satin dress in the process. Dashing along the street, she made for the Opera as quickly as she could possibly manage. The street lamps barely lit the alleys and sidewalks. Frightening shadows fell in every direction. Why had she decided to journey so late? It didn't matter, the sooner she could see her home the better.

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><p>Erik's eyes flew upwards as he heard footsteps crossing the floor above. Who would dare enter such an accursed place as this? He threw a cape around his shoulders and crept to the main entrance of the Opera. He was concealed from view, watching the room from a vent within the wall. A tall, slender form was pacing about the room, searching. The person ascended the stairs to the balcony of the theatre. He followed within the many hidden passages.<p>

He watched from a one way mirror that hung in the private box. Erik now saw that the figure was a young woman. She leaned perilously over the rails, her head twisting from side to side. What is she doing here? He could not help his curiosity. Slowly, she turned, her fingers wiping at the wetness upon her cheeks. He gasped, Christine! The sight of her lovely face crying tore at his heart. He wanted to tear out the wall that separated them. But he could not, she was not his.

"I know you are here." Christine's shaking voice filled the stillness. "You must be, I can sense it." She was sobbing, her eyes hunting for the Phantom. "Please, please answer me. I have to see you, just once more."

Everything within the Phantom burned with desire. Erik flinched, fighting his need to answer this call. He would ruin everything for her. Whatever misplaced guilt she felt would die in time. No, he could not rob her of the path she had chosen. But that did not mean he had to leave her blessed presence. He drew closer to the mirror, wanting to be as near to her as he could.

"If you are listening, I have a final request. I know I have no right to ask anything of you, but if you still care for me…"

How could she even utter such unholy, blasphemous words as these? If he still cared? If he still CARED! How could she ever doubt his love for her, his undying loyalty?

"…please do not forsake your music. My dark Angel, your soul and my own belong to lyrics and melodies." How truly right she was. "Do not keep your magnificent talent hidden. Share it once again with the world, if only for me."

Did she not realize his tormented soul could no longer write? Her beautiful voice had been his inspiration, the emotion he felt with her bled into his pieces. Even as Erik argued against the idea, he longed to grant Christine anything he could possibly give.

"I am so sorry. I wish I could really tell you. You do not know how this has hurt me. I… I miss you." She whispered the last phrase, barely able to whisper.

Why? Why must she say that? The very words he had longed to hear cut him to the core. He wanted to answer her, to comfort her, to steal her away and love her. But it was love that kept him unwillingly silent.

"Good bye." Her shoulders fell in defeat. No, please, stay a moment longer that I may just look upon you. But it was too late, Christine was gone. The Phantom watched her go, longing to follow. He was shackled by his affection.

"Oh, Christine, what have you done to me?" No one had the answer, but Erik already knew it. She had broken a monsters heart.

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><p>Christine ran back down the stairs, not able to stand the Opera without his presence. She had hoped… She had hoped for impossibilities. She had wanted to hear his voice speak her name; call her back to him once more. There was no call, no voice. She had spoken into the darkness like a madwoman, expecting a miracle. None came.<p>

Once home, she fled to the privacy of her bedroom, hoping to escape Raoul's questions. She had no real answers to give him. There on the sheets of her bed was a rose. But, it was not red, nor did it have a black silk ribbon. Still she could not resist its pull. She untied the note from the white flower. Disappointment assailed her when the letter bore her Fiancée's penmanship.

_Christine,_

_I regret my rash behavior of this morning. I should not have treated you in such a manner and I am sincerely sorry. You are right. I have not been supporting you as I should. I have bought tickets to attend your show tomorrow night and I look forward to watching you perform. I hope you will forgive me for my beastly behavior. I love you with every bit of myself and I want us to be happy. _

_Yours truly,_

_Raoul_

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><p>Erik tossed and turned in the swan bed. Finally in frustration, he threw off the coverlet and swung his legs over the side. He rested his aching head in his hands, shivering at the cool draft that hit his bare shoulders. Christine asked me to continue my work, how can I deny her? The Phantom had fought with himself all night, and even now he had yet to find a clear route to take. Angrily, he stormed about his domain. Finally collapsing on the bench in front of his organ, his hands fisted, ready to smash the blasted keys for all of their useless work. But even as his fingers landed, they had spread finding long forgotten chords. His whole body leaned into the music. The familiar song both hurt and healed. <em>Think of Me...<em>

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><p><strong>This chapter was rough; I hope you enjoyed it despite. Please leave a review telling me what i have done wrong, or hopefully right. May Erik sing in your dreams.<strong>

**~much love,**

** -Bo-leigh bella**


	3. Failing

**Alrighty, chapter 3 is up and running. Please, Please, PLEASE read and review! Thanks to my reviewers and to the fabulous WeLoveWeLive for being my sole beta. She is amazing!**

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><p>Christine gazed into her mirror, allowing her attendants to prod and powder her. The show would begin in only thirty minutes and she would face the music in an entirely new way. Why was it becoming increasingly difficult to sing? Her voice had not changed, her tone was still glorious. Yet, she felt hollow every time she took to the stage.<p>

She started to hum scales remembering his instructions: _never skip your warm up but do not strain your voice. Many of the moronic stars of today waste their show by overdoing their warm-up. _It worried her when she felt a scratching sensation at the back of her throat.

"Mademoiselle Daae please stand, I must corset you." She complied, bracing herself for the restricting laces.

"Stop," she ordered, gasping as the woman cinched her in.

"But Christine I haven't reached even twenty inches yet." _Corsets, blasted accessories, I will not allow you to destroy your air support for the sake of fashion. If you must be caged never allow anyone to lace you tighter than twenty-five inches._ She remembered how his voice had softened. _You are always beautiful my dear, never worry your sweet mind about that._

"I know Michelle. I need to breathe, so please stop." The girl ceased her tugging and slipped the blue gown over Christine's shoulders. She then left the actress alone with her tangled thoughts.

Christine could not remove the Phantom from her mind. He was constantly there with his advice, his instructions, his music, and ultimately his aching absence. It seemed that everything around her was a searing reminder. How she missed him in these moments. Before, he would appear in her dressing room, offering words to calm her nerves. Or he would send a letter of encouragement. How she longed for his voice to soothe her. Not just her anxiety about her show, but her fears about the wedding, about her quarrel with Raoul, her need for Him. Though she wanted him, Christine's Angel did not come, did not speak. She lifted the hem of her gown. The only reminder of his presence was the ebony silk ribbon tied around her ankle.

A stagehand rapped on her door, "five minutes Miss Daae."

"Thank you," she called weakly. What will be, will be, she told her reflection in the glass, even without him.

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><p>Raoul entered the opera thankfully. Maybe at last Christine would understand his devotion. He wanted her to see that he was trying. He knew that this was the place she could be free. Perhaps this was the place she would open up to him as she once had. He was perplexed. She had been so vague, so distant since leaving the Opera Populaire. None of his previous efforts made any difference. When he attempted to speak to her about his concern, she would withdraw from him even more. Raoul just could not fathom what he had done wrong. But maybe it isn't a fault of mine he thought. He had pushed the accusation from his mind before, but it kept finding its way back. That devil of a Phantom was the root of Christine's detachment. He felt certain of it. He still occupied her mind.<p>

It hurt each time he noted the faraway look in her eyes. She would gaze straight through him, unseeing whatever was before her. He knew those moments were shadowed by the Phantom. Yet he could find no evidence that the creature had visited her. Raoul jerked his eyes to the stage, breaking his reverie.

The velvet curtains parted, revealing a young woman, Christine, seated gracefully in a field. She was crying, heartbroken. Her voice lifted in a tearful song. The maiden had been ordered to marry, but her heart was set on an outcast, an artist, misunderstood by all, excepting her.

"_My darling, my love, my dear_

_How I wish we could flee from here_

_How I yearn to be yours alone_

_Yet my life is not my own_…"

Raoul believed every word. Christine's pain was so real. He felt his heart pound and his breath speed.

_"My sweet, take me on the wind_

_We shall not return again_

_You and I, together for now_

_It shall be forever somehow."_

As the story unfolded, the maiden and the lover met secretly. He promised he would save her and they would be together always. Her fiancée found out the artist's plan, and sent an assassin to remedy the interfering peasant. The maiden waited for her love. Weeks and months flew by and he never came. Her intended husband finally revealed the young man's fate.

The heroine could not bear the sorrow of living without her love. She sang of her intentions to follow him.

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><p>Christine mentally sighed in relief, only one scene to finish and she was done. She felt dead, there was no joy in her songs. The numb feeling burned a whole in her chest. But there was only emptiness to fill it. Once she had felt a rapture that lifted her voice. Now it seemed to plummet. Not only were her emotions failing, but her breath seemed to come in gasps and her throat burned with an irritating ache.<p>

She hardly heard her cue to sing, but she swept right in.

"_Without him, there is no reason_

_Without him, there is no song_

_Without him my world is broken_

_I have no purpose to tarry on."_

Christine plunged the blade into her chest and fell. The curtains closed and the audience roared in approval. But when the curtain lifted again, Christine was gone. She had fled out the side door and into the alley where she finally succumbed to the agony. She did not cry, but sat in a silence that was worse than any amount of sobbing. _You will always find me hiding within the shadows. _She remembered the words from his letter. Was he really always watching her? She could scarcely chance to believe. Yet she knew that nothing was impossible for him.

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><p>Raoul had watched closely as Christine performed. The gentle woman he knew changed in a matter of minutes into a nameless stranger he only saw glimpses of. This new young lady seemed so passionately determined, as if she was on a quest for meaning. The fulfillment she sought escaped his understanding. He was keenly aware that he did not know this Christine. The sudden sinking feeling in his chest tore at his thoughts. He fought against the thoughts but they pushed their way into his mind defiantly. She doesn't love you. She still loves him, always loved him. She is his creature. They reside in a place you can never enter. That is why she pushes you away. You cannot make her happy. No, he argued with himself. I <em>can<em> make her happy! The thoughts continued to run through his mind like shards of glass, ripping their way into his heart.

Christine returned to the stage once more, answering the calls for an encore. But her expression had transformed into a hopelessness he had never seen before. Her eyes were wide, as though she were lost. When she sang once again, her voice broke, shattering into nothingness. Not an easy break, where there is no sound, but a painful ripping that left her without a voice. Before Raoul could react, Christine fainted, collapsing in a heap of silk and lace.

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><p>Christine heard groggy voices through the haze that overshadowed her.<p>

"Get a medic!"

"Mademoiselle Daae, answer us." A thousand people were shouting and screaming.

"Christine, Christine open your eyes. Christine please." Raoul's voice overpowered all others. Her head ached from all the noise. Something had happened...on stage. She could not recall before she sank into deep unconsciousness.

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><p>The elderly doctor came out solemnly from Christine's suite. "I am afraid she has contracted Pneumonia, at least that is my guess. Her fever and chills are obvious and typical symptoms, yet her lungs sound barely scratchy. I would suggest leaving the windows open, to warm night air is not humid this time of year. It will help with the cold chills as well." His eyes looked very seriously at Raoul. "Your fiancée may not pull through this. She strikes me as a delicate woman. I would avoid upsetting her if that is at all possible."<p>

"And her voice?"

"That I cannot say, some patients have difficulty breathing after such a serious illness. But if she rests physically and mentally, perhaps she will recover fully."

"Mentally, what do you mean? Her body is sick not her mind." Raoul tensed angrily. Christine was going to be fine.

"I am not a psychologist by any stretch of the definition; however a blind man could see that her mind is more than troubled. Even asleep her face shows the fatigue she is feeling. She may be under intense emotional stress." His eyebrows pulled upward in simple undisguised curiosity.

Raoul clenched his teeth at the man's impudence. He was more furious with himself than anyone else. His argument with Christine had been selfish and stupid. How could he have upset her so? "I will see to it that her mind is untroubled."

"Good man, I will call on you again in a few days to see if she improves."

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><p>Christine ran after the shadow, her legs aching and her lungs burning to the point of exhaustion. Yet, no matter how fast she followed, the laughing shadow always quickly escaped. Suddenly the streetlights disappeared and everything became blackness. She screamed in terror, but no one heard. But, there in the distance, a small beacon of light illuminated the darkness. She walked to the rays, hoping for some way out. It was…a mirror, a green glowing mirror. Tentatively her hand touched the glass; somehow there was no reflection of herself. She searched the place where her eyes should be, and found a mist like mask, the all too familiar white mask of the Phantom.<p>

"Angel," she cried, "why won't you come to me? Why have you left me?" At the sound of her voice, the ghost materialized, standing before her with a disapproving glare. The green eyes bore into her.

"Why will you not sing?" His voice was an angry growl, yet the beauty in it still rang true.

"I have been singing, I have, but without you it is not the same. My voice sings but my soul is silent." The stillness around her was immediately filled with echoing music. A complex symphony of a thousand instruments serenaded her. The tunes she had not heard in far too long caressed her senses.

"Sing, my angel of music!" He smiled darkly, waiting. As his melodies engulfed her, she felt alive to the tips of her fingers. Charged with that energy, that power only he could endow. And the song within her took wing.

But then…she woke up. Christine's mind could not accept that the magical night had only been a fantasy. With reality came feeling. Her lungs felt as though they were filled with gravel and her body shook in tremors that left her weak. Her head pulsated like a living thing, pounding painfully within her skull. Christine's mind was clouded with exhaustion, yet something, what was it? Something was desperately trying to gain access to her contemplation.

Then suddenly, it all resurfaced. Her awful show, it had been going so well until the end. Her voice, the one asset she had always been so certain of, had failed. Her voice had shredded on the notes in a deplorable sound. Her cheeks flushed hotter with remembered embarrassment. All her striving work had fallen apart in one finale. Finale. The word pulled her back into the focus of her dream. Fresh grief washed over her mind. Why could it not be real? Why did that dream taunt her current existence? What a cruel joke it was. The Phantom had begged in her dreams for her voice and now she could barely speak. She knew now what she had tried to deny for months. Without Him, singing became pointless. Though she had tried to continue, even her voice rebelled at performing in his absence. Her mind fled back into blackness, escaping the greater pain of consciousness.

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><p><em>Prima donna Collapses!<em>

Normally the title would have troubled Erik very little, but rumors had been viciously flying through all of France of Christine. He needed to know the truth, not that the tabloids were notorious for that.

_Last night hundreds of Opera enthusiasts attended the critically acclaimed __Pas Mon Propre. Many were attracted by the promise of seeing Mademoiselle Christine Daae perform. This amazingly talented young woman has entranced __thousands__ with her wonderful soprano voice. The first and second acts transported viewers into the story. The actors and actresses work was flawless, beyond comparison. The true casualty occured after the show had ceased. When Mm. Daae returned for her encore, her voice broke and she fainted dead away. No news has been told of her condition. Her fans can only hope she will be able to take the stage once again…_

Erik never finished the article, it fluttered to the stone floor as he ran out into the night. All he knew was Christine was not well. And no amount of regret or pain could keep him from her now.

The cool warm night air blew into his cape which billowed about him as he raced across rooftops. He knew of course the exact location where the Viscount and his bride to be were residing. Ah, her door was open, that would make things much simpler. Like an acrobat he swung from the overhang and landed lightly on her small wrought iron porch. The french doors were slightly ajar, the thick velvet curtains stirring gently in the breeze. Softly, he walked across the thresh hold.

Instantly his dark accustomed eyes ascertained that she was awfully sick. Her cheeks had an unhealthy flame of color against her now paler skin. Though she slept, her eyes were circled by dark purple rings. What worried him most was the ragged grating of air from her lungs. The effort it took was pitiful.

"Angel…why…left me…" His body tensed rigidly, but relaxed as he realized the mumblings were fragments of her dreams. Then he was overcome by disbelief. She whimpered sadly. She disliked his leaving, truly. He watched her closely, looking for the signs of deception in her face. She always had been maddeningly more difficult to decipher than others. Though he could find no trace of lying, he did see that she was beginning to wake. Quickly, he blended into the shadows of the curtains, easily fading from view. Still, he could watch her. Her eyes opened in blatant shock. Then her brow flew downward in mad confusion, not only confusion, but undeniable pain. Pain Erik had never seen the equal of in Christine before. It split as both physical and mental pain. Eventually the flesh won out and her body sought refuge among dreams where pain would lessen.

Hesitantly, he emerged, walking to her bedside. Carefully he touched the back of his palm to her temple. Her skin burned against his. As gently as he could manage, he slid his strong arms beneath her shoulders and cradled her against his chest, rocking her side to side in a soothing tempo. Without the smothering comforter about her, her body began to cool, if only fractionally.

So absorbed was he in her condition, he failed to notice her blink lazily. "Angel?" If he hadn't been holding her, he would have jolted at the sound. As it was, he could not move for fear of hurting her. His subconscious mind could not allow it. Looking downward, he realized her eyes were unfocused and glazed by delirium. He knew it would torture him later, but might as well enjoy this moment.

"Yes, my dear?" His whisper was hoarse, roughened by the emotions he held so rigidly in check. He hoped he might sound as the Phantom of her dreams.

"Would you sing for me? It hurts." Her voice broke on the final word, her lungs desperately trying to cope.

"Anything, what would you like to hear?" Oh how he desired this time to suspend so he could truly appreciate it.

"Muse…Night," Her words slurred slightly, but he immediately knew the piece she meant. He cleared his throat quietly and sang as he hadn't in months, because until this moment, he had no reason to sing. Now his purpose was calling him.

_Night time, sharpens heightens each sensation _

_Darkness stirs, and wakes the imagination_

_Silently the senses, abandon their defenses _

His rhythms were that of an unnamed instrument, that visibly calmed the woman in his arms. He poured his heart out to her in the solitude of the room, and it was as though she had never left. For the first time since her absence, he felt alive, because once again he had a reason to live.

_Let your mind start to journey through a strange knew world_

_Leave all thoughts of the life you knew before_

_Let your soul take you were you long to be_

_Only then can you belong…to me_

He could hardly manage the last line. He was acutely aware that she would never choose to be his. Not with her rich and successful fiancée at her beck and call. He who could escort her in public. he who could roam the world of light. He who would not shame her. He who was maddeningly handsome, not a wretched, disfigured creature of night. He gritted his teeth against the onslaught of revulsion at his own existence. His eyes closed in fierce concentration. Then he felt the warmth against his cheek. He froze.

Christine gazed up at him, a comforting hand placed upon his face. "I am truly sorry I disturbed you my dear." With a quick surge of determination he put on a gentle smile. But the worry did not leave her. She took a deep breath to speak. "Please do not my dear. Rest so you may be well again." He saw the stubborn resignation and had the sudden urge to really smile. Yet in the back of his mind he worried, she no longer looked tired or confused. What if she recalled this night? His whole reasoning was that she would remember nothing of his visit, or would believe it all a dream, or nightmare he corrected mentally.

"You look so real." Maybe there was hope after all. Her mind still rejected him, and why not? What sane person would wish for him to be real?

"So do you darling." Yes, perhaps that line would distract her further. It both pleased and saddened him to see her confused once more. One part of his mind raged against keeping himself from her. Just let her see, let her know! Let her react however she will and accept it. Stop avoiding the truth like a coward.

It isn't cowardice he argued with himself. I am protecting her not myself! She is the only thing that matters.

"Why have you left?" Her words were soft, but even still the agony in them was poorly disguised. His blue green eyes tightened minutely. What can he say to this?

"I… I have never left you Christine, not for one moment." Suddenly a torrent of emotion overwhelmed him. "My soul is always with you and I have watched you. I know it is a horrid, selfish thing to do, but I cannot stop myself. I have tried. Oh the times I have tried are countless. My dear, your hold on me is the most powerful thing I have ever experienced in the entirety of my life." His whispers were filled with a hushed conviction.

"If I asked, would you come to me again?" She pleaded. Why Christine? Why are you doing this to me? His mind shouted all the questions he hid from her.

"I am here now am I not?" He replied, trying to keep the mood light.

"But you will leave again." This time, there was no question. It was an accusation.

"I will do what is best for you. I should not be here now."

"Do I have no say in what is best for me?" She winced at the strain on her voice, but her resolve was strong. Hot tears slid down her cheeks. "It is my life, I should have a choice." Instantly, Erik wore a dark grimace.

You did have a choice! A grand choice was yours for the taking. Raoul or me, the paths were set before you and you chose him!

"Can I not have both?" It seemed as though she read his mind. The question came out a choked sob.

"I am not sure he would be willing to share his wife in any way Christine. It just is not logical." He tried to speak as gently as possible, but he couldn't quite hide the venom in his words. The fury in him had been ignited.

"Why must everything make sense?" The harshness in his rebuke had scared her, but hardly silenced her.

"I suppose it does not have to. But Christine, right and wrong cannot keep the same company and you would attempt to do both at once." He chuckled softly, a deep musical sound. "I thought I had taught you better than that." He tweaked the tip of her nose playfully. Erik had never been the wisest judge of ethics.

"Angel I…" He lightly placed a long finger against her lips. Her tense body relaxed, her legs stretching out. His eyes could not help but roam the length of her, even down to her softly curved ankles peeking out from beneath her nightdress. What was that? Careful not to attract her notice, he examined the small black line of… of dark black silk.

"Hush now. Rest my Christine, dream happy dreams. I shall sing to you again if it will help."

She frowned, but nodded in assent. He began in his rich tenor, singing a lullaby he had written ages ago, his mind questioning the implications of the charm above her foot.

"_The moon has risen, and the night has fallen_

_Even angels must rest their wings_

_Candles fade fast for the night cannot last_

_Listen closely as the darkness sings"_

Erik barely finished the verse before Christine passed into a deep slumber. He squeezed her shoulders in a brief embrace and kissed her forehead in sad farewell. And then, was gone.

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><p><strong>Sorry about the awful wait for this chapter. I am a relatively new author, but I am fighting to make this story a good one. Hoped you enjoyed. Please read and review and perhaps I can finish the next chapter quickly. <strong>

**~Much love,**

** bo-leigh bella**


	4. Memory

**Here it is, Chapter 4! Sorry for the wait, lots of distractions have taken away from my writing time, such as work. I hope this chapter will be worth the suspense. Much love, please read and review. Thanks of course WeLoveWeLive and all those that have left reviews. Ya'll are some special people :D oooo special!**

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><p>Christine had never experienced such a vivid dream. He was there, of course. Her memories of him had not done him justice. How rough and weak his voice had seemed in comparison to the Phantom that had graced her room. Even speaking his words were musical, lifting and dipping in a confusing yet lovely rhythm. His whispers had been such a soothing tonic to her headache, yet his words had only made it worse. Dreams were not meant to be so painful. She asked him to return, and he had declined, gently but forcefully. Saying right and wrong could not keep the same company. That was so very Phantom, always thinking himself to be a mistake, to be wrong.<p>

The very best part of her dream, oh it was his songs, his singing. It had been eons since someone had sang to her. She performed for thousands, but finally one sang for her. _The Music of the Night _had been an old favorite of hers. Hearing it fresh mesmerized her as it had the first time. His tenor-baritone notes were pure and flawless. Oh how she missed it.

Oh God, she questioned, why did it not truly happen. Why am I holding so stubbornly to a dream? Why does the imagined please me more than my life? Because, she answered herself, he makes you happy. And-and Raoul cannot, not that way. The one rebellious thought made her compare Raoul to Him for the first time. She had never dared before, still holding onto the delusion that her childhood infatuation could make her life complete. That a boy she hadn't seen in years, years could be the sudden fairytale. While all the time, it was hers for the taking.

The thought had finally broken through and refused to leave her. Raoul did not even know her. He knew seven year old Christine, little Lottie. Christine was eighteen. A lot can change in so many years and a lot had. Her father, the true protector, had died. Leaving her alone and orphaned in a strange world. And who had been there to comfort her? Who had been there to shelter her? Certainly not Raoul who had been goodness knows where. It had been the Phantom. He taught her to sing and gave her a new passion worth living for. And in years and years of caring, sheltering, and loving he had never once left her. Always he was the constant her life revolved around.

Even as she hurt him, over and over, he still loyally guarded her. She winced as she remembered her own cruelty. The day she first attempted to remove his mask. Why did she do that? He tried so hard to hide and there she went ripping his barriers down. And then, the day Raoul returned she immediately fell into his arms like a love struck child, leaving her poor Angel in his loneliness. Then she revealed him to hundreds in Don Juan Triumphant, unmasking the Phantom and endangering his life. Finally, when he begged for her love, she rejected him. She recoiled as she counted her mistakes.

And yet Raoul was so, so human. He simply embodied a man, a potential loving husband. While her angel, he was a God. A mysterious and fantastic deity sent down from the heavens to grace the world with music. He always seemed so unreachable, unattainable. She feared many times growing up that he did not exist, that he was just a marvelous figment of imagination, a fantastic dream. But time proved her fears false.

Could a man like Raoul really fulfill her life? She believed he could. But fulfillment, well that was adequate, just enough to count as successful. What if she wanted more, someone exciting, passionate, even dangerous sometimes. Would that be better? For today, even ill, she felt utterly safe. Security would be no issue with a Viscount as a husband. Life with a Phantom would grant no security, no safety. Except- except when she was enclosed in the hardened arms, sheltering her from the entire world. Except when he sang to her, making worry and disappointment disappear. Would that be worth the price?

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><p>The candles were burning low and the cool lair was filled with unbearable silence. Erik writhed in the torturous situation he found himself in. Only when Christine was involved could such a thing occur. He sat in a desk chair, sipping wine and trying to decipher the riddle before him. So many conflicting messages, all contradicting the one before.<p>

She left him, which was a simple message to interpret. She could not love a loathsome creature like him. His love was not worthy, he even agreed to this. But when he dared to see her once more, she held a memento, a token of him. The ribbon around her ankle whispered other faint words, practically drowned out by her earlier messages. Perhaps she does long for you. Maybe the fragments of her nightmares actually reflected her thoughts.

Disgustedly, he took a long drink of wine. The burn of the alcohol calmed his shaking hands. He wanted her, with every cell of his body he longed for Christine Daae. And not just her flesh, that would have been painful enough. No, he wanted it all, her thoughts, her emotions, her love, her beautiful soul.

Waste! That is what she planned, to waste her love upon the unworthy little Viscount. He could not even fully appreciate her. Oh sure, he knew Christine, knew the same Christine everyone else saw. But he had never even glimpsed her true self. The innocent heart who gave herself up in passion, the mind that searched for purpose with reckless abandon. He knew not this Christine. The pure, virtuous woman who comforted a demon in his solitude, who sang to please him, to please me! He never glimpsed the lost little girl as she turned into a savior. No, Raoul had not seen these things, so, how could he really know Christine?

He didn't!

That was the irony of it all. The idiotic little rich boy was in love with the woman his childhood playmate _may_ have been. The child he knew had a father and a happy life. He had not seen the pain and sorrow the little girl endured when her father passed. He did not know how she suddenly changed to being so utterly defenseless and hopeful when she at last found her father's Angel of Music. These things had changed the course of Christine's life. She could not be content with ordinary, not when she knew other fantastic, majestic things existed. She may have settled for normal before, but now she knew that she can expect more. That's what I could offer her, more. No day would be dull, not a second would she believe she was ordinary, no. I would treasure her always, worship her for her goodness, for loving me, if only she could. He, he could not treasure her, for he isn't aware of the gem he holds. She is worth more than all his estates and fortunes. Erik's jaw tightened in restrained anger, the ferocity in his thoughts translating into his body. He quickly inhaled and exhaled with a long slow hiss, attempting to release the tension in his muscles.

What I would give to know, to know beyond all doubt that Christine wants me. Why is this even still a question? I should have been rid of this uncertainty months ago; the very day she left me should have erased all excuses and charades.

It would be enormously easier to let her go if he could believe she had moved on. But her actions made it clear that she had not done so. When she had realized his presence she begged that he not leave, pleaded with him to come again. It seemed when he sang, that she missed his voice as much as he longed for hers. Her voice, oh what if she never sang again? He could not believe that his creation could fail completely. Even if it did, his affection for her would not cease. Her talent was spectacular, but it was not what merited his attention. Yes her abilities were amazing, but they held very little of Erik's regard for her.

Erik had fallen in love with Christine years and years ago. He remembered with astonishing clarity the day he happened upon her.

He stalked among his first passages, writing blueprints for the future convenient connectors. Watching from different angles to see which vantage points he lacked. He had journeyed to the inner walls of the chapel when he heard the hushed whimpers. Slightly annoyed, yet vaguely curious, the twenty year old young man climbed up a set of stone footholds and peered from above into the circular corridor. There seated in a niche by the window was a little girl, an impish little child with waves of unruly chocolate curls. Her knees were pulled up to her chest and she crossed her elbows over them, resting her tearstained cheeks. Erik had never experienced such compassion as he did for this wayward student. She looked so lonely and this expression is what first wrenched his heart. He couldn't help but ask, "Please darling, do not cry any longer." Almost immediately he regretted his loose tongue, but it was too late, she had heard. The large brown eyes snapped open and flew upwards toward the sound of his voice. Of course the wide eyes could not see him concealed within the ceiling.

"It's you, my angel of music. Father said you would find me!" Her high pitched yet soft voice sounded so utterly joyous that he could not bear to negate her. He could not know that in a single lie he determined the course of his future.

"Yes, it is I. I am afraid it took me a while to finally seek you out, my apologies." Erik had never seen someone happy to speak to him, granted she could not see him, but it still filled him with purpose. For once he wanted someone to like him. For so long he had ignored the human populace, finding only rejection and pain in its midst, but here, in this one child, he found acceptance, and even a need for him.

"Oh do not say sorry. You are here now and that's all I have wanted since Papa…do you truly sing like the angels of heaven? Papa told me I would know you by your voice. Oh please sing to me monsieur Angel." Her sobbing had subsided and she now gazed with intense hope toward the sound of his voice.

The young Phantom was taken aback, extremely surprised at this request. What else could he do but as she asked? Suddenly her plea was the only thing he wanted to fulfill. He yearned to win the affection of the child. Without hesitation he sang his thoughts and feelings to her.

_My sweet young child you will know me_

_Your teacher and friend I shall be_

_You are the girl who has shown me_

_How I can be free!_

_Angel of Music you have called me_

_Here in this room crying_

_Your father has heard you and he sent me_

_Now see your eyes drying_

_Your father has spoke of an angel_

_Now you shall see him appear_

_I shall protect you and guide you_

_You will find me here!_

The melody ran delicately and sweetly, triumphant even. Christine would never forget the tune and in later years, always used it to call to her Angel. Erik had been playing around with music for two decades, but as he watched the innocent face light up, he realized his purpose. The day he became the Angel of Music intensified his passions. Immediately after the girl was called away, he dashed through tunnels to his lair. He sat at his instruments for hours until what he would call his first true composition was completed. He wrote and rewrote lyrics, slaving over the piece. Exhausted, but finally content, he sat the sheets of _Angel of Music_ to dry. Beneath the title he wrote, _her song_.

Now Erik would be delighted to have that trusting little girl back. She never questioned him as a child, only accepted him as her guardian. Now she seemed to fear him, doubt him, crave him. What a perplexing disaster it all turned out to be! Seeing her again had brought all the old emotions back with feverish clarity. Life was easier when he could block off the world and feel nothing. A strange, hollow contentment comes with nothing. From the day she left he slowly cut off his reactions, concealing his heart again from the world. It was not an easy process, but eventually a cool numbness consumed him. But now, now all the torturous feelings washed over him in tormenting waves of pain.

The wine began to affect his actions, and finally Erik broke. Yelling out her name, piercing the silence with his pain, he mourned the loss of Christine Daae. He cursed her for bewitching him, cursed her for leaving him, and cursed her for stealing his heart. No matter the suffering he endured for the woman, nothing could erase his addiction to her. Even as he succumbed to the burning hatred and love, two passions warring with one another, he condemned himself for blaming her. How dare he! How dare he darken her memory with feelings of loathing and hatred! Who deserved the feelings more than him? Ashamed and shattered, he fell before her likeness, the portrait staring back with soft eyes.

"Why…Why?" he whispered a thousand times, shaking on his knees in misery. But Christine did not appear to comfort him, even his hallucinations, that he would have welcomed, did not come. He cried alone, as he always had, and likely, always would.

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><p>Raoul entered Christine's room cautiously, careful to tread silently so he would not wake her. Even so, he stumbled over a rug, hissing when his foot slammed into her dresser. She flinched in her sleep, but did not stir. Sighing in relief, he walked to her bedside. Somehow she had thrown her covers off. He pulled them up again to warm her. She looked slightly better, if less than mortally ill can be considered improvement. Her cheeks had a more natural looking color and her tremors had lessened considerably. Examining her face he noted how she seemed to be thinking deep thoughts in her sleep. He wished he could somehow will her to be well.<p>

Suddenly a cough racked her body, making her wake as she shook. Her eyes squinted from the pain and she whimpered sadly.

"Are you alright, can I do anything to help?" She started; shocked that she was not alone.

"I am afraid there is not much you could do." Her words were hoarse and very weak. He was almost angered when he realized _she_ was comforting _him_.

"Oh, Christine I am so sorry!" He felt he must apologize for his actions, for his uselessness.

"Raoul, this is hardly any fault of yours." She attempted to laugh, but she felt far too depressed for such a merry sound. The roughness of her chuckle disguised the lack of humor behind it.

"Maybe, I have not been the most gracious partner to you as of late. And I am sincerely sorry." His eyes burned with the intensity of his regret. Christine could not help but feel moved.

"That is all gone and done with. Let us not discuss it anymore." Same as before, she still did not want to discuss Him, or any event that related to Him.

"Oh Christine, you are an Angel," he said, swooping down to plant a kiss on her forehead. She had to bite her tongue to keep from asking him not to _ever_ call her that. The endearment sounded so, so wrong on his lips. As it was she instantly cut off her emotion, careful to keep a small smile.

"Could you help me to the settee by the door? I really would like to take a bit of fresh air." Quickly the viscount jumped to do her bidding. He picked her up and settled her by the French doors, opening one slightly to let in the warm air.

"Are you cold, should I get you a shawl or a blanket?"

"No, this feels wonderful." Stretching her stiff limbs, she leaned back against the seat.

"Christine?"

"Mm?"

"What is that wrapped above your foot?"

Christine's eyes snapped open in alarm. What would she tell him?

"Oh, it's nothing, just a umm…charm a close friend of mine gave me. It is supposed to bring good luck." Her heart fluttered in a panic. Had Raoul ever seen the roses? Did he know only one _friend _would have given her such a ribbon? She watched him closely, trying not to scrutinize him too obviously.

"Well that is rather thoughtful," he replied lightly. Christine relaxed again. He clearly had not known. "I shall be back soon with your tonic. Try to rest until I return." He exited quickly, leaving Christine to herself.

Once he cleared the thresh hold he allowed the sorrow to have him. She was such a poor liar. She had no skill in deception. Raoul had always admired that, but for the first time he wished she might delusion him. He was no fool, no love sick simpleton that paid no attention to things outside his infatuation. He had seen the red rose in her dressing room once. The small letter only bore two elaborate midnight black lines.

_To my beloved Christine,_

_From the Angel of Music_

He eventually put together the Angel and the Phantom. And around the rose, the ghost had gently tied a fine black silk ribbon. The same dark bow tied around her foot. The same black knot tied around her heart.

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><p><strong>So there's my take on Erik and Christine's first encounter. I hope the flashback wasn't confusing. Please REVIEW if you enjoyed this chapter or the story and tell me your thoughts! Much love, bo-leigh bella.<strong>


	5. Interview

**Well it hasn't been a month! Chapter 5 is complete. I apologize if it is a teensy bit short. I would like to thank a couple of my most loyal reviewers: angelofmusic75, PhanforLife, darkgemwildcat thanks a ton for following my story and reviewing almost every single (if not all) chapter. To my more recent new Phans, I love ya'll very much as well. I'll be giving you shout outs in later chapters! So review!**

**Thanks WeLoveWeLive for being an amazing beta. You are wonderful!**

**Enjoy the story, read and review!**

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><p>Christine recovered slowly, but thankfully had no relapses. In two weeks her voice had returned, but only speaking. No matter the incentive, no one could convince her to sing. She claimed that it was impossible, but of course gave no attempt to prove it. Music still diverted her, though she did not appear in any productions, she was present at countless performances.<p>

The scandal surrounding Christine made her more valuable than ever. Sponsors and loyal audience members demanded her participation. The managers constantly sent her letters of entreaty, offering all sorts of nonsense to lure her back. First it was a larger dressing room, then a lead in every show; finally in desperation they offered her ridiculous amounts of money.

She declined them all, stating simply that she did not plan to return to theatre, not theirs, but any, as anything more than a spectator. Her fans did flatter her with their commands, but they too were turned down.

Hearing beautiful arias was all that bound Christine to her Angel. Since her collapse, she had not dreamed of or glimpsed the Phantom, though she searched for him in every face she met. Every now and again she would feel a nervous thrill run down her spine, and she would look around in expectation, believing him to be near. But he never arrived.

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><p>She could not have been aware, that since their last meeting, Erik could not leave her alone. When he awoke, his hands gripping her picture, he resolved that the only joy he would find in life now was watching over Christine.<p>

He had made vast preparations, roaming her apartment, the opera, and any places she visited often. By night or in her absence he found places to observe her, places to hear her, and places to hide from her. His old empire was the opera that he had rebuilt over time to suit his purposes. He had remodeled walls and windows by nights and holidays to serve his needs. Now he reasoned to use what material he had to be Christine's guardian once again. But she must never know.

He longed only for the vague satisfaction of knowing his efforts would provide protection for her. He intended to guard her quietly, to watch her exploits and see her happiness. And the darker side of his nature intended to scope out any weakness or flaw in Raoul. If he dared try to hurt her or change her, well he would not get further than trying.

As of late, he became more and more disappointed with her. Christine refused, adamantly, to sing, to even try. It was as though she intended to punish him for his disappearance by keeping her gift to herself. Of course she wasn't, but that did little to tamper Erik's growing frustration. Could he not hear just a note, a single reassurance of her brilliance? His worries over her voice had not lessened, yet he could not personally ask her of it.

He watched her with such intensity, that some moments she would glance up, as though she sensed his attention. She could never see him, but it still made him nervous when she responded to his proximity alone. Not only nervousness, he also felt a smug sort of satisfaction in her reaction to someone she could not see nor hear. It made him hope, a vain desperate hope that perhaps she was bound as irrevocably to him as he was to her. Maybe not by love, it was possible that some other emotion drove her connection; but she had a connection just the same.

His obsession was uninterrupted until he glimpsed an advertisement in the paper for a new opera. He knew almost every work performed in France, variety was welcome. The title made him regret his interest, but sparked his mischievous side. _The Legend of the Phantom, _based on Paris' own resident ghostsurprised him. He wondered vaguely how people could be so impudent to a known murderer. Had Christine known about this? Or worse still, had they gotten his secrets from her? He had heard no remark on the subject from her lips.

Plans came on their own accord, and Erik finally found a distraction.

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><p>Christine stared in horror at the paper in her hands. They had written an entire opera about her, and the Phantom. Did these directors realize what disasters they could be welcoming? Her angel would either be immensely flattered or furiously provoked. History sided with the latter.<p>

She mused angrily of who they planned to fill the role of the Angel of Music. She also questioned how they would present the story. Would anything be fact? She fretted over the likeliness of the directors making the Phantom appear as a heartless monster, that they would show nothing of his better nature. Not that many people had seen the other side. Not that anyone but her would care! Who would they chose to represent him? Whomever they chose to play the impossible tenor would pale in comparison. She gave no thought as to who would perform her role. Her mind focused solely on her Angel. She wondered if he had any ideas about the play. And who on earth told them the story? Did the playwrights copy the Phantom's musical genius? He would kill them in pure malice for such a crime.

Christine did not realize the informant was much closer to home.

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><p>A strange man watched Raoul from the street corner. His source told him the Viscount had visited the doctor's home every three days, and finally he had caught him.<p>

"Monsieur Vicomte de Chagny, may I request an interview?"

"I am afraid I am in an awful hurry, my betrothed awaits me, she is direly ill."

"Yes sir, I am aware. I assure you this shall only take a moment, the shortest moment of your time."

"Very well, what is it?"

The stranger looked at him expectantly, "What do you know about the Phantom?"

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><p>"For years there had been tales of him, but sightings were so few and far between. People laughed as often as they shuddered at the mention of the Phantom; never knowing the myth was all too real. He was… a black hearted monster of the very worst kind. Manipulative, angry, conniving, he always found an upper hand, in everything it seemed." Raoul's voice shook with the furious resentment he felt. His eyes were squinted in concentration on his memories.<p>

"And, your fiancée, Christine, how did she play into his story?"

Raoul's face contorted in poorly concealed pain. "She, she was the monster's focus, his addictive obsession. Before him, Christine was a shadow in the Opera. Under his tutelage, she became one of the most sought after actresses in France. He gave himself all the credit for her success." His jealousy made his words very clipped.

"You said 'obsession', could you perhaps elaborate a bit on what you mean?" The man's eyes were feverishly bright with curiosity, trying not to press too firmly for information. The Viscount seemed only too willing to blacken the legend's name. He was exactly the man he needed for his work.

"He stalked her, mad with a dark love. She became his entire world. Everywhere she went, he was sure to watch her. She was his god, his salvation from the hell he lived in, and in my opinion rightly deserved, the coarse murderer."

"How did they meet, surely no one would allow the Prima Donna to leave alone with a strange masked man?"

"Of course not! No, the Phantom would quite literally steal her away. He has passages everywhere in that madhouse. I have had to navigate only a few in order to rescue her from him. But he could take her away with no one the wiser. I am certain he has a connection to her dressing room."

"Why would she go with him? If she had screamed, someone would have heard."

"Well, he…" Raoul hesitated, not wanting to admit even to himself how alluring the Phantom could be to Christine. "He sort of hypnotized her. Christine is a lover of fine things, especially music, and that heinous creature has a voice that rivals, God forgive me, even Christine's own. She was drawn to him when he sang, I have watched it firsthand."

"When was this?"

"We planned to capture him, so to corner him we allowed Christine to lure him into the public eye. She had it all planned out, but when they were on stage, she, she…," Raoul's mind had sealed away those hurtful moments. The opening of them stung.

"Go on."

"The moment he sang she fell. All her plans were gone, all her other passions gone. Her eyes were full of love and wonder; she looked at him like nothing else in the world mattered. Nothing."

"Did this ghost have any feelings at all toward you?"

"Oh yes," he laughed, a short, humorless sound. "He absolutely hated me, of course he loathed all of humanity, but I was his special favorite to hate."

"Why?"

"Christine. She loved me, was betrothed to me. This affection was torture to him and his jealousy was unending. When he learned of our engagement, he stole her ring and forbid her to marry me. When he kidnapped her after exposing his hideous face to the world, he tried to take my life; Punishment that would result from her rejection."

"Did that anger her?"

His words were barely audible, "No."

"Why not?"

"Because he was her _Angel,"_ he smeared the word with sarcasm_. "_And of course her Angel could certainly do no wrong. It wasn't his fault he was all alone; wasn't his fault that the world shunned him. That damnable creature had her convinced that he was infallible."

"Has she ever blamed him for anything? Kidnapping her? Dictating her life? "He questioned severely

"No, she excuses him with anything she can use. She does not even condemn him for murder."

"That is certainly surprising. Does she still love him?"

Raoul's tone was cutting, "I never said she loved him."

"You did not have to. Only something as irrational as love could allow her to act as she has."

"She does NOT love him. She may not be mad at him, but no sane person could love such a monster, certainly not her."

"As you wish, Monsieur," He paused, waiting for the Viscount to regain his composure. "Does she still have any affection for this man?"

"I am afraid she does. Nothing I do seems to lessen her regard. Time has not faded his memory. It seems sometimes that she still searches for him. She thinks I am blind to it all, but I am at fault partly because I let her believe it; that I cannot see her longing."

"Has he confronted her since she left him so cruelly?"

"I would not call it cruelty, more accurately she left him out of mercy, for herself. Had she stayed, she would have become miserable. And no. Not that I am aware of. I have kept a close eye on her. Not that it matters. It is quite difficult to keep a ghost away no matter how badly you want him gone."

"Miserable? Are you certain? From what you have told me, Christine enjoys his company."

"Only because she does not have to endure it for long, I am sure that eventually he would have shown his true colors to her and finally disillusion her fantasies."

"How do you know his true colors?"

"He shows his real self to the rest of us, he puts on a mask for Christine."

"What if it were the other way around? What if, around Christine, he is really himself? What if that kind, caring man is the real Phantom? Can you fathom that perhaps her compassion allows him to just be him, with no masks and no walls? No one else treats him with regard as she does."

"We are finished here." Raoul shoved past his interviewer with a vengeance, because he heard a truth in his baiting words; a truth he had no desire to hear.

The stranger laughed quietly to himself. He hadn't believed a bit in his last questions, only wished to irritate the Viscount. He had everything he required now. With quotes from the former owners, ballet girls, and Raoul, he had quite a story to share.

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><p>Ever since the interview Raoul had been in a foul temper. He did not even want to lay eyes on Christine, so afraid that he would not be able to hold his tongue. But she was sick and he needed to assist her.<p>

"You were gone longer than usual the other day. Did something come up?"

Must she be so concerned? It only made guilt season the anger. "I suppose you could say that. A friend wanted a conversation with me." Carefully he gave Christine her tonic. She pursed her lips at the bitter taste of the liquid.

"About?"

"A… mutual acquaintance that he wanted to hear of, he hasn't been able to get in touch with him."

"Do I know him, this acquaintance of yours?"

"I don't believe so." The lie burned on his tongue, but he would not recant it. No need to encourage her to think of the poisonous wretch. Yet he did want her to think of him; to think harshly, badly of him. If only he could make her see what everyone else did, that she ignored so stubbornly.

The idea came suddenly, but he counted himself a fool to not have thought of it before. "Christine, have you seen the nonsense in the papers about the new opera? I have a suspicion it is about you love. Would you care to see it?"

Christine jumped at the opportunity. She had been thinking for days, trying to imagine a gentle way to ask Raoul to let her attend a showing. Now good fortune allowed him to ask her! "That sounds interesting, my dear. I would love to attend with you."

She smiled brightly at him for the first time in days. His heart constricted to see that lovely smile once again. "I shall make the arrangements then. The friend I bumped into the other afternoon offered me supreme tickets. He has had a hand in directing. I shall just let him know." Her eagerness to accompany him had his emotions fighting for dominance.

Unexpected joy coursed through him knowing that she wanted to go with him. He was so happy to have his darling smiling again. But, the smile bothered him immensely. How could he be sure that smile was meant for him? _No one else treats him with regard as she does._ What if the curve of her lips was in response to memories of the Phantom? The suspicion cast an unsavory light on his thoughts. What if her merriment was solely in response to being involved with something related to him? Raoul became consumed with curiosity as to how Christine would react to the show. Would she finally see his evil tendencies? Or would seeing her story before her only intensify her mourning? He wished fervently that the former would prevail; he highly doubted it. Yet that could not be true. Christine chose him, didn't she? She had her chance to live in darkness with her demon, but she chose Raoul. No, surely she only wanted to attend to amuse herself with her own story.

Guilt assailed him when he remembered the kind of story she would see. Would she be able to realize that Raoul had told her secrets… and His? Would it upset her that the Phantom demonstrated his darker habits; that she was depicted as a victim? He became greatly troubled, musing over the possibilities.

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><p>Erik chuckled quietly among the beams of the new Opera. He watched intently as sets were built and actors and actresses strove to attain perfection in voice and action. During the abandoned hours of the night, he added his own special alterations to the stage. He stole the sheet music for the orchestra and replaced some of the tunes with more befitting pieces. One scene change in particular was vitally important.<p>

His part in the play was sure to be magnificent, much more realistic than the poor excuse for a tenor that would play him. Erik was rather offended. The man who represented the Phantom was small, tan, and had a weak voice that the management tried to pass off as seductive. Whiney and shaking could never be alluring. Even more unbelievable was he wore his mask on the wrong side! Really, could they not at least get this correct? His scenes were filled with grotesque threats and dark songs. What infuriated him supremely was the character's treatment of Christine. Their Christine did not begin to compare to the real woman. Rather plump and commanding, she had no concept of the Angel she was supposed to be. Her voice grated on his ears. Many nights that he watched, he was tempted to silence her. But there would be a time. He laughed again, the soft ghostly sound bouncing off the walls. Indeed there would be a time.

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><p><strong>Hahaha slight cliffhanger, sorry I could not help it. If you liked this chapter story please REVIEW! Really, it only takes a second. Can't wait to hear from my faithful reviewers! -Bo-leigh bella**


	6. One Chance, One Shot

**Wow! This was a whirl wind of a chapter to write. I hope all my crazy thoughts came through. So as for acknowledgements: **

**WeLoveWeLive as always for being the most talented and amazing beta in history!**

**HugeJoriFan42, Laania, Angel of Mystery-145,** **x0allisonqt0x, SamanthaAnn, Wolfie-chanLovesAnime, Why Fireflies Flash, Elysse Fray 111, The Fan of Almost Everything, Beauty is Simplicity, and rororogers ya'll are all awesome! Thank you so much for reviewing! **

**Nice to hear from you again Danye!**

**P.S. I know that these aren't all my reviewers. If I haven't mentioned you yet and you would like me to, do not hesitate to ask! Enjoy the story, read and review!**

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><p>Erik gazed down warily upon the crowd. Well hidden among the shadows of the rafters, he allowed himself to smirk. How pleasantly unaware they all were. He began to settle in for the long wait. No need to ruin the surprise.<p>

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><p>Christine entered the opera on Raoul's steady arm. She looked breathtaking. Her white gown covered with lace and tiny beads became her wonderfully. It called to mind another white dress she had worn not so long ago. She had no inclination as to why, but she preferred her hair to be loose in its wild curls that night, instead of restrained with pins as she had taken to styling it.<p>

The house glowed with light from hundreds of candles and a very familiar looking crystal chandelier. It was not an exact replica, but she knew immediately its significance. Their seats were only five rows back, better to see each minute detail of the play. Many familiar faces greeted the couple. Monsieur Andre and Firmin expressed their happiness for the Viscount's future marriage. Christine silently demeaned them. The fools never listened to the Phantom. She had never been overly fond of the pair. La Carlotta was also in attendance. She of course made no move to greet or otherwise acknowledge Christine, the snobbish hussy. Little Meg Giry was also among the spectators. She ran to Christine and hugged her fiercely and began to prattle on about how much she missed her. She expressed her thankfulness of Christine's recovered health.

"Why haven't you come to visit me!" she demanded. "It seems like ages since I have been able to see you. And we were once as close as sisters. I saw that awful news about you in the paper. Oh Christine, I have been worried to distraction." Christine had a hard time keeping up with the girls skipping thoughts.

"I'm sorry Meg; I know I should have written you. But I've been awfully busy with planning the wedding and…"

Meg squealed. "I still cannot believe you are getting married. You and Raoul make the most charming couple. Oh do tell what day the celebration is planned for."

Christine laughed uncomfortably, "I will send you an invitation as soon as we order them."

"Of course, sorry dear. Are you excited about seeing The Phantom again?" She giggled expectantly.

Christine grew pale and her eyes wandered as though she spoke of the actual ghost. For in fact, she suspected he might watch the show.

"Oh it must still frighten you. Forgive me for asking. We won't speak of him anymore."

Not wishing to be rude, Raoul politely excused them so they could find their seats.

The gas lights were lowered as the deep red velvet curtains parted and the opening scene commenced. It was a dance section. Ballerinas leapt gracefully across the stage, their skirts flying softly. Immediately all eyes were upon the dark haired woman towards the back. She clearly was the Christine. She whirled and moved with the others. It was her brown curls that gave away her identity. There were no lyrics to the beginning scene, simply underlying accompaniment. When the dance ended, a quick scene change brought the audience into Christine's dressing room. She was distraught, afraid she was failing her father.

"_In the back of the chorus line_

_Never thought of at all_

_Just a voice among hundreds_

_Even that voice is small_

_One day, I swear I shall be_

_The star of the show, the leading lady_

_One day, I will make you proud_

_My song will finally reach the crowd"_

"Oh, it's hopeless," she sighed overdramatically. "No one will ever give me a chance."

Christine restrained her criticism. Originally, she had no desire to be the star. She was perfectly content as a ballerina. The Phantom had given her that wish, but it wasn't for selfish attention. She wanted his praise and affection. And her father had never told her she must perform. He had loved her without her voice.

"Christine…" The barely audible call made some of the audience members laugh, others shiver.

"Who's there?" The faux Christine looked around in shaking alarm, her eyes wild with fright.

"It is I, your Angel of Music, _come to the Angel of Music_." His sentence ended with a whispered line, half sang.

The woman cried, trying to convince him to leave her be. When he came out of the mirror, his cape and hood hiding him, he swept her up in his arms and forced her to go.

The true Christine watched with growing dislike. She had willingly gone with the Phantom, she had wanted to go. She had not protested like some frightened child. And the Phantom's notes were all wrong. The melody did not even follow the simple notes of their shared song.

Suddenly, from somewhere unknown, the sad strains of a violin echoed. Christine started at the tune. The unknown musician was playing the exact melody of _Angel of Music_. The orchestra director looked very perplexed, for none of his violinists were playing. Her heart beat wildly, surely not… but who else could play it so perfectly?

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><p>Up in the ceiling, Erik smiled at the confusion he had caused. Some audience members were still clueless. But he could see the cast and crew from the Opera Populaire struggle not to cringe. Yes, it is I my old friends. You shan't be able to deny it for long.<p>

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><p>The opera continued in the Lair. The set was mastered artistry. Christine gasped when she saw the candles and his organ. It all resembled the cavern so clearly. Who had seen it and told the playwrights? What traitor had revealed those places he hid among? It seemed so devious to expose his sanctuary, the one place he could escape.<p>

The Phantom revealed himself. Her eyes narrowed at the tiny man who pretended so impudently to be the Phantom. He did not capture the elegance and mystery the true man embodied. He seemed frightfully small and his hair was cropped short. His mask occupied the wrong side of his face. Christine let out a small huff of annoyance.

"Sing, Christine!" The command was a bark that seemed brutal. The young actress attempted to glide up the octaves as Christine had in her glorious triumph. Many onlookers grumbled their dislike, for there was no comparison. The notes fell flat and left an unpleasant echo hanging in the air.

Then there it came again. The hidden violin ran the octaves as the actress could not. Higher and higher it climbed, until it ended on a long suspended note. The cry sounded as both sorrow and ecstasy at once. Christine's eyes pricked remembering the feeling. Who? Who knew these songs that had been concealed so carefully from the world?

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><p>Erik's long legs were stretched out, the bow still sliding softly across the violin strings. A nervous murmur ran through the crowd.<p>

Because no one had ever heard the _Music of the Night, _the directors substituted a much darker replacement; _Dark Secrets._

"_Dark secrets told in nighttime told for you alone_

_Dark secrets whispered to you, never can be known_

_The Phantom desires you, beauty and grace_

_Never shall you see this devil's face_

_Tell me you love me, tell me you care_

_Or never again will you see me up there_

_My music will die and you will be blamed_

_Christine just tell me you feel the same!_

_If you cannot love this hideous man_

_You will never see daylight again!" _

Erik was dissatisfied. The accompaniment was grinding on his nerves. He was utterly offended that such mediocre pieces were being passed off as products of his musical intelligence. It was like a slap in the face to hear so much unison and basic arpeggio harmonies.

He only became more restless as the faux Raoul and Christine shared their love song. Even the characters' duet tore at him. The one time he heard Raoul and Christine sing was the day he suffered more than any person should have to endure and still be cursed with living. How much easier it would have been if he had just died. All his abuse and cruelty he had taken from the world could not measure up to the agony when she had kissed Raoul. Sharing her voice with him was equally as tormenting to him as sharing her body. Music was where Erik and Christine became joined as one, and she bestowed that gift upon her Vicomte. The one person who had ever shown him kindness was stolen. Even now he winced remembering the laceration that had ravaged his heart as she plunged hurt after hurt into him.

"_Say you'll share with me one love one lifetime…"_

His dark eyebrows arched, surprised at the selection. He had not attended that rehearsal to spare himself. He grinned wickedly. So the little Viscount has meddled again. Only one man could know that tune besides himself. Searching the faces below carelessly, he saw a sight that hit him hard. He felt like his lungs had suddenly shut down, for his beautiful Christine was directly under him. She sat next to Raoul, her legs crossed gracefully. He searched her expression, wondering how she felt about this play.

Her fingers were pressed together tightly, a habit he knew to be restraint. Her eyebrows were drawn down slightly. Ah, annoyance was her contained emotion. Perhaps suspicion as well. She glanced at Raoul throughout the song under dark lowered lashes. Did she realize that he was the informant? He became so absorbed in her feelings, that for a few moments he did not even glimpse at the opera.

But then the worst section of the play began. The scene he loathed with a burning hatred.

"_Masquerade, Paper faces on parade_

_Masquerade, hide your face so the world will never find you"_

The chorus sang the celebratory song with an infectious enthusiasm. The costumes were bright and regal. This one piece was accurate, for many people had sung that night. The music is not what bothered Erik in this selection. He could care less about the happy little chorus. No, he was furious with his own character. The Phantom entered in his ghastly Red Death costume, stalking among the gathered crowd. The other actors gasped and shrieked when he entered. He found Christine and jerked the engagement ring the Viscount had given her from her neck.

"Betrothed! How could you, you ungrateful little wench? I made you!" The Phantom bellowed angrily at Christine who cringed in fear. Then it happened, the event that made Erik mad beyond expression.

The ghost struck her across the face with the back of his palm.

Erik had never laid a hand on Christine in any kind of violence. Even in his most passionately angry moments he never touched her. How dare they make him out this way, as uncaring as to strike an Angel?

"I am sorry my Angel." The girl blubbered, suppressing a cry of pain.

Ah, now was the appointed time.

Suddenly the musicians struck up a complex tune. A long note followed by chords running down then up again. Erik suppressed a moan of satisfaction. To hear his work played by a full orchestra was ecstasy, finally hearing all the harmonies playing against one another.

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><p>The maestro looked dazed once more, never recalling teaching his orchestra these pieces.<p>

Christine recognized it immediately. _Phantom of the Opera_. Then, accompanying the music was the voice.

"Opera Ghost," the title bounced eerily off the walls, "Prince of Darkness, Demon Child, Creature of the Night." Everyone, on stage and in the house glanced around in wonder. The voice, the dark voice came from everywhere and nowhere at once. "And ANGEL of MUSIC!"

All at once, a figure flew down from the catwalk, a black cape fluttering as it descended. He landed in a crouch, one knee down. Slowly, gracefully he stood. "I am the Angel of Music." Before the audience, the true Phantom graced the stage with a sarcastic fluid bow. His white mask was vibrant against his skin and the raven of his hair. Tall and regal, he dwarfed the trembling man beside him. Erik pointed in defiance at the masked actor. "How dare you pretend to be one! Only two exist in this world and it is quite obvious that she," he waved dismissively to the fake Christine," Is not one of them. That should be apparent by her horrid cackling voice."

He turned his attention back to the man. "No angel could bear to strike another, especially when she is from heaven and you represent one from the darkest pit of hell." Ladies in the crowd screamed and fainted.

"And to the playwrights, I beg an answer to this question: Have you any semblance of an idea what happens when you mock a Phantom?" He seemed to know who they were for his eyes traveled to the trembling men. "Tsk, tsk," he clicked his tongue in fake regret. "That was a mistake good sirs."

Christine's eyes were locked upon the stage. He turned on his heel as though sensing her attention.

Erik gazed down at her with poorly concealed challenge. She would sing for him. He had risked it all, at first for simple amusement, a diversion from suffering in Christine's shadows, unable to speak, unable to touch. But now his goal was set. She would sing! How many opportunities she had had to perform, how many wasted chances. Today he would show her that she had not lost that fire, that the spark of musical genius they shared had not been diminished.

Her eyes locked with his as she stood without being cognizant of her actions. She responded readily to his presence, feeling the profound relief of laying her eyes on him. To long she had ached for him, to long she had had hopeless fantasies of a reunion. His return took away all the desolation and pain in one simple sweep.

Raoul gripped her arm, but she tore it away frantically. It was him! He was alive, here!

"You see," Erik continued addressing the crowd without breaking eye contact," One angel has forgotten her purpose. She has forgotten how to sing, forgotten how to rejoice. Wasted talent, what a sin," his voice darkened on the final word. All eyes turned to the shaking soprano. Everyone knew it was Christine he spoke of, and everyone was riveted to see how she would respond. He held out his black leather gloved hand, an invitation. His emerald and sapphire eyes were molten with passionate desire.

Christine felt like she would faint. After all this time, he had returned. Her heart felt ready to burst at the onslaught of joy. The music continued as she made her way to the stage.

"All angels can sing. She has hidden her sacred voice. But now you will all see that no angel of heaven can truly fall."

There was a great crescendo she remembered as her cue to take to the octaves. She was so close to him now, she could see the shaking beneath his ebony coat where his heart pounded within his muscular chest. She pressed her fingers into his palm. His eyes fairly glowed with adoration as he touched her. Gently, but firmly he whispered, "Sing."

Hearing his husky voice at her ear made her euphoria complete. Her voice, silent for so long, filled the room with tunes so unearthly, so perfect, that the entirety of the crowd was captivated. Christine Daae had returned.

"Sing my angel of music." He begged of her, pleading for another taste of the perfection of her lovely voice. The orchestra played the lift again and Christine's voice soared. Erik's eyes closed in ecstasy, and then opened in possessive triumph. Her face shone with an inner fire, and never had the sound of her been so glorious. His fingertips burned with delicious sensation at touching her skin; even through the gloves he felt the warmth. Standing so close, he felt the sensual waves of her voice as she sang. Never had his desire been more awakened. Their separation had only increased his need for her. And there it was the spark of nameless genius that defined Christine's talent. She had transformed into his angelic creature once again.

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><p>Raoul watched on with a heart full of hatred. She had not resisted his call, had not even tried. He attempted to restrain her from returning to him, but she had shaken him off like an inconsequential boy. Now he watched as her eyes rimmed with tears. Her lips curved in startling happiness. He could have no trace of doubt now, that smile was not meant for him. That affection was for the demon. The hell bound angel that for all the world could not leave his fiancée alone. For the first time, Raoul came close to loathing his chosen bride. Not for Christine herself, but her maddening actions that continued to torment him. He had thought that she was securely his, that he had no more battles to fight. Now he could see clearly that he must strive to retain her affections, and so far he was losing.<p>

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><p>Erik glanced down at Christine's lovely brown eyes. It broke his poor excuse for a heart to see tears. "Do not cry, please. I cannot take it." He pleaded softly, his words unintentionally low and seductive, rasping warmly against her skin. He lifted a hand to wipe them away, but hesitated before his fingers touched her face; Even now touching her felt like defiling something sacred. At the last moment, she pulled his palm to her cheek, leaning into his hand. He shook as pleasure ran down the back of his spine.<p>

"No, they are good tears." She replied quietly. Then he noticed something about her demeanor. Christine was not absorbed in his voice, nor hypnotized as she once had been. Her eyes were clear, and filled with an emotion familiar, but unknown to him. She was exultant, euphoric. She was under no delusions or spells. Christine had come to him for… for what? Erik could not discern the answer for the life of him. Suddenly, the audience, the orchestra, everything faded until only Christine existed. The music created a wall of intimacy around them, separating them from the prying eyes. This one moment he wanted to know, to be entirely convinced of her motives. He heard a reassuring bridge in the music, changing the song gracefully into another melody. So he asked of her the only way he knew how; the only way he would know she was truthful.

"_You haven't forgotten your Angel?" _

_"Angel of music, here not hidden,_

_Finally comes to me." _

She answered immediately, their voices harmonizing naturally. There was no pause as he told everything to her.

"_Too long I've watched from cursed shadows_

_Love flaring bright once again_

_My heart and my mind have been fighting"_

Then their melody and harmony came together, tenor and soprano caressing the same words.

_"And my heart did win!"_

"_Angel of music, -"Angel of music,_

_You denied me -I denied you_

_Turning from true beauty- Turning from true beauty_

_Angel of music- Angel of music_

_I long for you- I long for you_

_You the one bright, Angel." -You the one dark, Angel"_

For a brief instant, not one member of the crowd could comprehend anything beyond the sincere majesty and beauty before them. Speechless they gaped at the impassioned pair. Long time vendettas were forgotten and even fear vanished for this one instant.

Their hands were clasped as though nothing could break the bond. Erik stood in awe, unable to believe what he witnessed. Every dream and fantasy seemed to have personified on the stage. Christine was singing to him, smiling at him, _touching_ him. He could not have planned a scene so magical. He opened his lips to speak…

When a gunshot reverberated in the room.

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><p><strong>Thanks for reading, now….review! Tell me how I have been doing. If you can't think of anything to say, tell me your favorite part, not just this chapter, but out of the entire tale.<strong>

**angelofmusic75 hope you don't mind me using your quote.**

**Sorry, another slight cliffy. **

**Just so you know the Angel of Music they performed was the Wandering Child duet (with my own twist of words of course). Hope it wasn't confusing.**

**Much love –bo-leigh bella. **


	7. Healing Hands

**Here it is the much anticipated chapter 7. Who pulled the trigger you ask? You must read my friend to find out. **

**Thanks to some newbie and loyal reviewers: stardash19, PhantomForever112, mayalewis16, tizmine, Zebrakatten, obsessive 360, Tbnasib3, angelofmusic75, and PhanforLife. (Again I know this isn't all of ya'll. I'll try to feature others next chapter.)**

**Wolfie-chanLovesSilently I missed you last chapter. But I hope you liked it.**

**WeLoveWeLive, thank you so much for all your help! **

**Without further procrastination, enjoy the story!**

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><p>The first shot was instantly followed by two more, the loud cracks breaking the beautiful aura that had encompassed the theatre. The momentous sounds crashed against the walls like thunder.<p>

Erik had not even comprehended the first shot until he heard the frantic screams of the audience. Instinctively his hands flew around Christine's waist turning her so his body would be a barrier to keep her from harm. She trembled under his hands, her face clouded with concern. Letting out an oath, he threw a small hand full of beads onto the stage. As clouds of smoke engulfed them, he propelled Christine into the wings. Only when she was safely out of danger's reach did he feel the burning pain racking two points of his torso. He gasped as the fire intensified his knuckles white as his hands fisted.

"Angel," Christine reached out to him tentatively.

"L-leave me, surely it is not you they are after." His tone was cutting, hoping to drive her away. All the while he fought to keep his voice steady, as he felt dizzy. Gathering his stubborn strength, he bolted for the side door, cape flying as he ran into the alley.

Christine did not register his words, for his actions had her full attention. Forgotten were those who would worry for her, even Raoul faded in her mind. Dashing into the street she hoped blindly that the dark spots on his chest were only imagined. Oh God, she prayed silently, please let him be alright. Running madly she chased after his shadow. It frightened her, for in her dream she could never keep his pace. She realized his wounds must be slowing him, for once he gained a distance from the opera, he altered running to an inconspicuous stalking in the side streets, trying desperately not to be noticed. To anyone else, he would be invisible, but Christine was looking for a ghost.

Following as close as she dared, she trailed his footsteps. She knew if he noticed, he could easily disappear all together. Carefully she matched her pace, looking down to try and blend in as he did. What she perceived on the pavement almost made her cry out. Small drops of crimson dotted every few feet of the cement. They seemed to be increasing in size. When she glanced up to find him again, he had vanished.

"No," she whispered desperately. No, no, no! She couldn't lose him. He could die from those bullets that she might as well have shot into his broad chest. No, I can't lose you, she silently screamed. Not again. Think Christine, how can you find him. She almost laughed at her own ignorance. Bending her head, she followed the drops of scarlet through the city.

After some time, she finally turned into a residency. The street was dark and ominous. Under any other circumstances she would have never dared down the path. But she knew her salvation must be awaiting her at the end of the road. She felt horror stricken when she ran into a dead end. There were brick and stone walls on every side but the way she entered in. The gray sky made the alley seem even more oppressive and threatening. Forcing her breath to slow as she exhaled, she examined her surroundings. Though her Angel always seemed to vanish with no trace, she knew of his tricks and intelligence that allowed him to disappear. She traced the trail of red with her eyes, stepping lightly to the final point. She felt along the rough stone with her fingertips, pressing each one carefully. Finally a small black stone shrank beneath the pressure; a barely audible click reached Christine's ears.

The concealed door swung inward on its hinges, no creaks or groans indicating its opening. What had seemed a rock wall, now revealed a passageway. Quietly she stepped over the thresh hold, into a new yet familiar space. The door closed instantaneously behind her. She scarcely held back a screech being trapped inside. The room she entered was large and tall, every wall covered in stone. The floor was covered in thick black and red Persian carpets. A fireplace held barely glowing embers, casting harsh illumination on the surroundings. The leather couch and velvet chairs were vacant. Searching each empty shadow filled her with anxiety. Hastily entering the connected room; she barely caught her breath when a harsh voice filled her ears.

"Whoever you are to dare and enter my home, I swear, if you do not remove yourself from this house immediately, you will regret your ignorance." He seemed to be speaking from behind her. When she spun around no one was there.

Gathering her courage she spoke. "It-it's Christine, oh mon ange, please come out. Reveal yourself to me."

"Christine?" She barely discerned the whisper. Then suddenly he was before her, a look so furious, so absolutely terrifying flashing in his eyes, she cringed before him. "You devious little cheat! You conniving temptress! To think I trusted you enough to appear again only to be shot for my trouble. Oh I do applaud you mademoiselle for the excellent performance you gave. I always thought you a terrible liar, congratulations on proving me wrong. You had me right in the crosshairs with yourself as the bait. How I didn't see it heaven only knows." His rant broke off abruptly as he gasped. His knees buckled and he fell clasping a hand to his side. "At least your Viscount will get some satisfaction out of knowing he killed me." He spit through clenched teeth.

"No! How could you even think that? I never meant for this to…"

"Oh spare me your useless, empty excuses! Your life would be so simple with me out of the way. No pitiful shadow watching your every step, no desperate monster dying of love for you. All the guilt would be gone. And since it wasn't technically you who pulled the-"

"STOP!" Christine yelled with a conviction so heavy that Erik became silent. Finally looking up at her, he saw the reflective silver tears running their course down her fine porcelain cheeks. Her control shattered and she sobbed under the sorrow his words had released. In a broken voice she murmured, "I see you after no word for months, no single note to tell me you're alright. I thought you were dead. And you think- you think I tried to have you…" she trailed off.

"Murdered," he finished softly, still unable to form any coherent thoughts of his own. He pulled his hand away from his coat, staring at the deep red staining his palm. He suppressed a groan. "Why should I believe you?" he demanded, his green eyes staring icily into her.

"Because I came to save you." As soon as he registered the blessed explanation, Erik blacked out.

* * *

><p>The theatre buzzed with outrage and horror. The shots hung frighteningly in the air. Raoul screamed, yelling out Christine's name over and over, trying to obtain her notice. No sooner had the final shot been fired when she and her Phantom disappeared in a burst of flame and smoke. He had no knowledge of her wellbeing. His heart stuttered as he realized she could have been hit.<p>

"No!" Running onto the stage and deep into the wings he searched for any sign of her. There were none. Marching back out onto the stage he searched the crowd. Nothing.

Immediately a high pitched keening reached him. Looking toward the voice he glimpsed Carlotta, wailing in the arms of two men. "No, you do not understand. It was for Piangi! He killed him! My dear loved Piangi, "She screamed. At first he thought she had fainted into them. Only when he saw the revolver pried roughly out of her shaking hands did he comprehend. She clawed at her captors, shrieking and sobbing as they bore her away.

Shaking with anger he followed, stopping the men. Seeing the Viscount they acquiesced. "Are you mad with jealousy? What were you thinking, you could have killed Christine!" He was a foot away from her, accusing eyes matching La Carlotta's cold stare.

She let out an insane laugh, "All the better if I killed them both and sent the monster and his mistress to hell where they belong. For all I care, you can follow." With that she kicked him viciously in the shin, laughing again as he grimaced. The guards took her away, apologizing as they descended the stairs.

"Damn you!" Raoul wasn't sure if it was Carlotta or the Phantom he was condemning. It may have well have been himself.

* * *

><p>Christine felt so overwhelmingly useless. Her Angel was collapsed at her feet, his precious life's blood spilling onto the carpet. She knew that he couldn't lose more; so much had already left his paling body. His long form rested on his side, the unmasked side of his face upturned.<p>

Cautiously she lifted his shoulder, attempting to turn him so he was on his back. He was heavier than she thought, but eventually she had him positioned satisfactorily. She knew she had to address his wounds before anything else. Suppressing her natural anxiety at the thought, she began to unclothe him. She unlocked the silver skull shaped clasp of his cape to let the black material slide past his shoulders to settle around him. Then with deliberate haste she removed his silk cravat and unbuttoned his dress coat. Pulling his arms from the sleeves of his vest, she noted how heavy and muscular they felt beneath her hands. Pushing immodest thoughts away she struggled to hold back her cries. His white shirt molded to his chest, stained with deep red. There seemed to be so much. How could he have even returned home in this condition?

Tears fell without her permission as she unbuttoned the last barrier remaining between his skin and her eyes. His torso was thick with sticky blood, the deep holes in his abdomen and shoulder still flowing with it.

Rage consumed Christine in the instant she glimpsed the harm that had befallen her Angel. And if he hadn't tried to protect me, it may not have happened, she accused herself. A small groan escaped his lips.

"Oh do not leave me now," she begged. Rising to her feet, she decided to search for some kind of water and bandage. Trying several doors, she finally succeeded in finding his bathroom. The white tile contrasted sharply with the gilded bath tub and golden counters and cabinets. Searching through his drawers she located rubbing alcohol. Carrying that, washcloths, a roll of bandages, and a small bowl of water, she hurried back to her Phantom.

Kneeling by his side, she gingerly pressed a wet cloth to his abdomen, brushing away the evidence of violence slowly. The last thing she wanted to do was cause him more unnecessary pain. A blush crept into her cheeks as more and more of his chest was skin bare before her. He was beautiful. Hard muscles made glorious indents in his torso. The lines of his shoulders spoke plainly of masculine power. Such pleasant natural grace so harshly overlooked because of a face deemed unworthy.

Christine was not frightened of his face. Every original line and scar decorating its striking features was a beloved mark to her. She thought of removing his mask, but dared not give into such temptation without his permission. Instead she allowed herself to caress his chest lightly with the cloth, wishing fervently that her hands could experience such bliss. Heat stole up her spine and her heart quickened at the thought.

* * *

><p>Erik felt dizzy, his head pounded, he guessed from blood loss. Something or someone was touching him, pulling his mind up through the thick layers of hazy reality. He suppressed a hiss as the touch ran over one injury. Instinct begged to flinch from this alien touch, to flee from this unknown. But curiosity factored too heavily in his judgment. Barely peeking from beneath his lids, he warily glimpsed at a scene that almost made him gasp. Christine was at his side, tending to his damaged body with obvious care. He watched in mute awe as she cleaned his chest and torso. He had an illogical urge to ask her to stop. Surely he was unworthy. No one had ever cared about him enough for it to matter if he lived or died. Now she was attempting to save him.<p>

The flaming pink filling her cheeks caught his attention and made his eyes flicker to her face. Her brown irises followed the trail of her hands, her pupils dilating in restrained… that couldn't be desire. Yet her eyes smoldered with every look upon him. Suddenly all his pain was forgotten as tongues of flame licked through his body. The passion in her reflected in intense longing. As his muscles tensed the agony came back with a vengeance.

His breath came out in a huff. He cursed himself as Christine's eyes wandered up to his. Just her gaze sent waves of tension running through him.

"You may want to remove the bullets, lead poisoning is quite uncomfortable or so I'm told." He tried to break the gravity of their stare with his voice. She blanched under his suggestion.

"Sorry, I was only jesting. I've tended to this kind of injury before. It shall not be hard to do so again." He mentally frowned at the idea. He could hardly hold his hands steady in his present state.

"No-no I will do it." She said softly.

"Christine, with all respect, you are not familiar with such things." He saw her resolve strengthen.

"Yes. However you have and can easily instruct me on what to do."

"I will not-"

"Yes you will allow me to help you. Are you really going to argue about this while your bleeding out? Stop being so stubborn and let me help you!" The desperation in her voice hinted at her true emotional condition. He realized he couldn't convince her otherwise, especially when he heard the reason in her plea.

"Fine," he growled begrudgingly. "Go back to my medicine cabinet and find the emerald green box. Bring it here and I'll tell you what to do."

While she was gone he was overcome with his ironic situation. Christine came for him, came to 'help' him. Such a pity that she followed when he could very easily be dying. Even know it was hard to think around the pain and unconsciousness that kept trying to claim him. He was only holding it at bay with tremendous effort. So tired, if only he could close his eyes for just a moment…

"Oh no you don't!" Christine ran to his side, shaking his shoulder lightly. "You must stay awake and aware."

"Why?" He questioned angrily. Could he not rest his aching body?

"I forbid you to die on me now." She whispered turning her eyes away from his beseeching gaze. More directly she continued, "Now instruct me my mentor."

The word brought back hundreds of memories. Pushing them all away he told her how to insert the probe and remove the two bullets. "Have you no painkillers for this?" She asked looking inquiringly into the box.

"No," he answered, his voice weaker. "Don't worry; I have endured far worse I assure you." Her lids lowered, trying to disguise the pity she knew he would abhor to see.

"Is there nothing I can do to help?" She begged, not wanting him to suffer at her hands.

"No Christine, please just do it so I can sleep." And you can run out of my life again, he finished silently. You might as well let me die, for that alone will kill me.

"Will you…" she trailed off, unsure of finishing her bizarre request.

"I have no patience for this, will I what?"

"Will you let me hold your hand?"

"I…" What was he supposed to say now? Erik stared at her, speechless. Finally he muttered, "I suppose you may if it will ease your grief." He tried to sound indifferent. However trying and succeeding are two different things.

Hesitantly, she molded her left hand to his, her grip gentle. Looking down at her Angel, she saw his incredulous expression before he had time to conceal it. It was amazing how that small point of contact would affect him so.

She then proceeded to move their joined hands next to his shoulder, pressing the back of her hand softly into his skin for balance. He grunted in pain when the probe entered the wound, fighting back cries of torture. His hand crushed hers. She bit her lip watching his eyes close tightly in agony. The second bullet in his abdomen did not want to come out cleanly. He winced as the probe traveled deeper into him.

Erik never imagined how comforting a simple hand could be. Grasping to the steady touch of her skin on his was the only thing keeping him in the present.

"I'm so sorry." Christine whispered every time he groaned.

* * *

><p>Finally both bullets were out, and Christine sighed in relief. Bandaging his shoulder and waist she tried helping him to bed. As soon as he saw her intent he resisted vehemently.<p>

"I've no guest bedroom, you will sleep there."

"No, it's your bed, Angel. You will sleep there."

"I refuse to do so and allow you to occupy a couch." Christine thought hastily. There was one hope.

"Fine, if I agree to spend the night in your bed, you have to as well." He was leaning against her shoulder, her arm around his waist, his over and around her neck. She felt his body stiffen in shock.

"Very well," he answered.

He lay back on the soft bed when she helped him. Looking up at her in her heavy dress and constricting laces, he felt only mildly inappropriate when asking, "Would you like to perhaps change into something more, erm, comfortable?" Her cheeks blazed at the suggestion, but fingering her heavy satin skirt she nodded. "Go check in that chest of drawers, the top should hold something suitable, if not far too big." Moments later she emerged from the hallway wearing a deep blue silk night shirt, her lace pantalets peeking from beneath. Erik's eyes grew wide seeing the loose silk slipping over her feminine shape. She stared at her toes as she approached the bed.

Keeping her promise she immediately slipped beneath the coverlet next to him. The thick comforter did little to disguise her curved shape. Erik wanted to sleep, yet he fought to stay awake through the fog. He desired to feel her warm body beside his. He never thought to experience such a dream. She was on her side, staring at him as though he might vanish. She had lit a candle on his bedside table. The flickering glow in her eyes was intoxicating.

"Talk to me," she asked. "I admit I am terrified to let you sleep." Her gaze was wide and honest.

"What do you want to know?" He inquired his voice hoarse. She hesitated. "I promise I will answer, you must simply provide the questions." He attempted to smile encouragingly at her. His anger was forgotten for the time being.

She bit her lip nervously, "Was I- was I dreaming that night?"

He had not expected that to come up so quickly. As the silence lengthened she chided, "You promised."

"Then you will have to be more specific. There have been many nights you could be speaking of." He hedged.

"The night you sang to me. You were so real."

"So were you," he answered in response. A heartbreaking smile parted her lips. His heart flew within his chest. To distract himself he murmured, "Next question."

She gazed thoughtfully into his eyes for a moment. A playful smirk lit her features. "How is it that I can hear you in my ears but cannot see you?"

"Oh that is simple. I am a ventriloquist."

"A-a what?"

He chuckled, wincing when the movement irritated his shoulder. "I can… throw my voice so to speak. I can place the sound of my voice anywhere I please, within a reasonable distance." His mouth suddenly stopped moving, his lips perfectly still. "It helps ever so much when you are supposed to be an omnipotent Opera Ghost." The sound came from the other side of the room. Her eyes flickered to the corner in surprise and he laughed again.

"Quite a talent," she commented.

"Just another one of those things I learned out of insatiable curiosity. Alright next, I am rather enjoying this."

"One more question and I will let you rest."

"Continue," he encouraged.

"What is your name? Your real name, surely you must have one."

He panicked. To reveal his name felt so wrong. A name could be a weapon used to unravel his aliases of Opera Ghost and Phantom. But Christine, an angel, was asking him.

"Erik." He searched her intently. Would such a mortal name disappoint the woman who had believed him a god for so long?

She only grinned in delight, "Erik," she repeated savoring the feel of it on her tongue.

"Mm." His eyes darkened with desire upon hearing the delicious sound of his name on her lips. How could one word be so bewitching?

Her eyes flickered to his hands lying atop his waist. She looked at them shyly; he was still bare from the waist up. Cautiously, she lifted her fingers to intertwine them again.

He remembered himself and jerked his hands away from her touch. All his fury and resentment were rekindled. He realized what folly it was to have engaged as they had. Such pleasantries would only cut away at him when she left him once again. "Please Christine; stop torturing yourself by touching me. I do not want your sympathy. Pity has ceased to hold meaning for me. What a loathsome emotion it is. So for goodness sake stop pretending I do not disgust you. I would almost prefer to be feared and hated. At least if you hated me it would be easier to let you go."

"But, Erik." The hurt in her voice was hard to combat, but his will was strong. He wished to end this torment of seeing her but unable to have her.

He turned with some difficulty to face the wall, turning his back on her. "Go to sleep Christine. I couldn't go anywhere if I wanted to."

Containing her sobs she faced away from him. Tears rested on both their cheeks as they drifted to sleep.

* * *

><p>Raoul stood outside the opera house on the top of the large stairs. He pinched the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb, unsure of what sort of action to take. What was one expected to do when their fiancée was suddenly abducted by a masked freak whom, to make things more unbearably complicated, she cares for? A soft tap on his shoulder made him whirl around in irritation.<p>

"What in the name of heaven do you want?" He shouted. He felt instantly abashed staring at tiny Meg Giry's frightened white face.

"I am so sorry Monsieur de Chagny. I only wanted to set your worrying at ease." She paused before continuing. "She is going to be perfectly fine you know, physically at least."

"How are you so confidant? Did you not hear the bullets? How am I supposed to be calm when Christine was standing in the middle of that?" He demanded, his earlier frustration returning with ease.

"Well, I know you hate him sir, but the Phantom would never let anything bad befall her. She is my best friend, yet somehow I never worry when they are together. I do not know much about our Opera Ghost, but I do know he would rather die than harm Christine."

"Oh really? Yes surely he was only thinking of her wellbeing when he forced her to choose my life or his love."

Meg stood silently for a moment, letting his temper pass before she responded. "Perhaps you do not recall Monsieur, but he allowed her to go free so she could be happy. That man scares me with all the blood and violence on his hands, and his face is a horror to behold. But I do not fear him in the slightest where Christine is concerned."

"Not about anything?" he questioned harshly.

"Only that she may fall in love with him again," She replied looking anywhere but at Raoul's expression.

"Can I not go a week without hearing from somebody that my soon to be _wife_ love's a heartless murdering corpse! She does not love that-that thing!"

"I have never claimed to be the wisest or smartest of girls. I know I am rather silly and naïve. But each time Christine spoke of her Angel or her teacher, I saw nothing but love in her eyes. You do not have to be intelligent to see that, you only have to look close enough." Seeing his face flush red in anger she quickly continued. "Do not misunderstand me sir, I truly wish she favored you. You who are so handsome and safe would be such a match for her. But it isn't your choice, or mine, or even his. Christine must choose, we cannot force her decision."

"What if she does not return?" he asked. Dejection hung in his words.

"Then her choice has been made clear."

* * *

><p><strong>Woah! Who saw La Carlotta coming? Did you<strong>**? (Points finger) or you? I even surprised my awesome beta. How cool is that? **

**Who knew little Meg was so insightful? (My beta did, she asked for that section so if you liked it, be happy she helps me.)**

**Now please, please, please review! I have written somewhere over 4000 words for you guys! Longest chapter yet. **

**Thanks so much for the support I have received. Much love!**

**-bo-leigh bella**


	8. Pictures and Promises

**Here it is! Chapter 8! Please read and review, or else…. I shall hold the next chapter hostage.**

**Thank you so much WeLoveWeLive! You are the best beta ever!**

**Thank you to all of my reviewers, a few awesome new ones being: Person, Nuria786, lovedoves, and 59icewolf**

**To some loyal reviewers thanks! Wolfie-chanLovesSilently, and Danye (all who aren't mentioned, major love for you as well).**

**Haha Laania calm down! And AngelofMusic75, I completely understand what you were trying to say. **

**I missed you PhanforLife, Tizmine, obsessive360 and xOallisonqt0x. I hope you all liked the last chapter and will like this one!**

* * *

><p>Erik awoke to an unfamiliar embrace. With a startled gasp he realized his arm was around Christine's waist. More unfathomable was the obvious way she snuggled against his chest, her curls causing wonderful friction to tease his skin. She seemed like it was her natural right to occupy that space beside his heart. Her closed lids spoke of serenity. He felt the heat of her skin and the thud of her pulse through the sapphire silk. Never would he feel accustomed to such intimate contact. The foreign touch was so addictive. Carefully, so as not to wake her, he lifted his arm and regretfully pulled it tightly against his side. With tremendous effort he managed to scoot as far away from her on the king size mattress as possible. Instantly he missed the warmth that had encompassed his body. The untouched silk sheets sent a chill through him. He faced away from her, not willing to admit how afraid he was to attempt mobility without assistance. As desperately as he wanted to wrap her back into his strong arms and revel in the bliss of just holding her, he denied himself. It was instinct, a natural barrier to push her away. Any sort of happiness shared with her now would only be an empty aching reminder in his head later. Closing his eyes, he attempted to force the unpleasant thoughts away.<p>

Just the sound of her steady breathing soothed his frayed nerves. Its legato tempo was like a calming lullaby beckoning him back into sleeps welcoming arms. Soon all of his worries and hurts dissipated like clouds after a storm. His eyes closed. Even amidst all the turmoil she had brought by returning to his life, Erik had never known such peace.

* * *

><p>Christine's brown eyes fluttered open lazily. Erik's broad shoulders were facing her. She ached to reach out and trail her fingers down those beautiful planes, but restrained her wanting. A bright patch of white against the dark sheets drew her notice. With an amazed look, she gently reached over and picked up his white mask. The light material was smooth and cool beneath her hands. She wondered if he had taken it off himself or if it had slipped off during the night.<p>

Erik had tossed and turned fitfully as soon as he had succumbed to sleep. At first Christine had only watched sadly, afraid to touch him, even as he slept. Soon he began to mutter and let out harsh breaths as though he was trying not to scream. His cries came back vividly in her mind.

"No, don't touch her. No! Christine come back to me, don't go."

"Please stop, please it hurts! Why won't you help me?"

"Why would you bring them here, why would you betray me, Christine?"

Her name repeated on his lips a thousand heart wrenching times. Even though pain saturated his voice, she never heard her name sound so beautiful. When she couldn't take his torment any longer, she braced herself and pushed her body against his. Her arms wound around his body protectively, stroking his back in soothing touches. His hands caught her waist instinctively, in a grip that had bordered on pain with its strength. Christine had whimpered, but in unexpected pleasure at having him hold her. As seconds had passed the tension had drained from his body, leaving him pressed softly to her. For the rest of the night he had slept silently relaxed.

Placing his mask on her pillow, she slipped quietly out of bed. Her steps faltered immediately.

"Oh." The soft syllable could not contain the true depth of her surprise. Before she had been solely concerned for her Angel, for the first time she took notice of her surroundings. The huge four poster wrought iron bed she had slept in occupied one corner. Also in black iron, a chandelier shaped of intricately woven vines and roses hung above their heads. One wall contained a built in bookshelf, filled with works both literary and musical. A large desk sat across the room, a huge royal throne before it.

All these miniscule details were lost on Christine. On the wall opposite the bed, dozens of framed pictures hung; and every one of her. Her first premiere dressed in white and silver, singing in Don Juan seductive and lovely, sleeping on red sheets in a finely sculpted swan bed. She knew he had painted or sketched all of these memories. Other moments in time he captured surprised her. In a round golden frame, Christine saw herself ten years ago. The dark haired child with round cheeks and wide eyes smiled happily back at her. Thirteen year old Christine walked barefoot in the rain, a delighted expression upon her face. The next showed her two years later; she danced her first solo ballet, a blue skirt twirling and graceful arms upturned. A gray square held her image in the graveyard, frightened and dressed in black. Another depicted her slender white hand cradled in a black glove. Still another presented her in a white nightdress and angel's wings as she stood in candle light before his pipe organ. A seemingly invisible fault line split a two-toned photo. One side was her lit dressing room, her eyes looking straight into the parting line. The other side contrasted sharply with dark shadows. She realized the split was her mirror. A black silhouette on the other side had hands pressed against the glass, watching intently yet unseen. The final picture stole her very breath, for it was the only one He was really in. Only the unmarred side of his face was shown, bent downward as his mouth devoured hers in the only kiss they had ever shared. Her fingertips flew to her lips remembering that one burning honest moment. She stroked his shape with reverent caresses.

What am I doing? Her mind struggled back to the present, regretfully tearing her eyes away from the picture

Changing back into her white gown, she busied herself trying to find something suitable to serve him for breakfast. Eventually she found the kitchen and prepared tea, buttered toast, and fried eggs. Setting the meager meal over the stove to stay warm, she began to explore.

At the back of the floor she finally found what she was searching for. A black set of French doors revealed his music room. She didn't know how a man could construct a pipe organ single handedly, but one sat against the far wall. She now understood why the ceilings were so high. Dozens of instruments made up his collection. Strings, woodwinds, brass, percussion, all added to the variety. Sitting down at his gorgeous black grand piano, she began to play one of the simple songs he had taught her. She smiled remembering how she begged for him to teach her to play.

"_The Spanish use the word tocar when they speak of playing music. It literally translates into the phrase 'to touch'."_ He had said before instructing her._ "When we touch something Christine, what else do we do?" _She smiled at the memory.

"We feel," she whispered softly to herself. Placing her fingers lightly on the ivory keys, she began to play quietly. She was no instrumental protégé like Erik who could play chords and harmonies with a swiftness that led his hands to blur in motion. But, though her music was simple, it held the feeling her instructor had instilled in her.

* * *

><p>Erik was pulled out of sleep's grasp by music. A sweet tune drifted on the air to him, rousing him from the bed. Placing his legs over the side of the mattress, he sat up and cocked his head to the side, better to hear the quiet melody. He sat for many moments, basking in the unbelievable phenomenon that Christine was playing <em>his<em> music in _his_ home.

True the simple little lullaby was hardly a great work. It would pale beside the splendor of his most complex compositions. Yet the precious hands that performed it made the song sound beyond artistry. He heard how her fingers lingered on the high notes expressing the slight sad tone of the music. The legato transitions flowed like entering a dream. Perfection, he thought wistfully.

Though his bandaged injuries burned, he ignored them in determined deference. He had sustained a high tolerance for pain many years ago. His eyes closed, letting the cool air awaken his body. Then came horror. His hand flew to his cheek, curving hatefully around the exposed scars. Where was it?

Shaking from head to heel, he searched visually for his mask. There it sat. The white stood out harshly against the red pillow, her pillow. Bringing the material swiftly to his face, he returned the mask to its place. He prayed silently that Christine had not seen his uncovered monstrous face. Taking slow stuttering breaths, he managed to quell the panic in his mind. He ran his hands over his disheveled hair, deciding upon his next action. Instantly he was distracted by the warm aroma of his imported tea. Glancing to the side curiously he found a small breakfast. Two cubes of sugar sat next to his teacup. His mouth twitched at the knowledge that she remembered such unimportant little details. Sipping the hot liquid thoughtfully, he ran through courses of action in his mind.

His beloved Christine had saved him and had stayed to care for him. Yet she was still engaged to the cursed Vicomte, who at this very moment was probably searching madly for her. He knew her following him was treacherous. Now she could expose him indefinitely if she wished. It would not overly astonish him for her to repeat past betrayals. Yet why would she help him at death's door if she only wanted him dead? He ruled that out as a possibility.

One fact he did know unequivocally. If he let her too close again, she would destroy him with his own unrequited love. He determined to make it easy for her to leave him quickly. He would be polite and pleasant while she remained under his roof, but that was all. No attachment further than that could he allow.

Steeling his resolve, he moved to dress. No need to let her gape at his mangled body. It was only further proof of him being a victim. How he hated that word.

"Ah…!" he gasped through tight lips. Pushing his arms through the sleeves had pulled at his shoulder. Wincing through the pain, he suddenly felt a soft hand on his arm.

"Let me help," she commanded gently.

"No, I am fine." To appear weak before her was beyond physical discomfort.

"Erik, please." Her voice softened further, her eyes beseeching. The very sound of his name was like a battering ram against his defenses.

"Alright," he breathed. The brief contact of her hands on his forearms and his chest left invisible burns searing his skin with acute desire. Erik had always been overly careful not to touch Christine, afraid of infecting her by laying such sinful hands on her innocent body. His black gloves had formed an impenetrable barrier between them and true intimate touch. The only time he had truly merged his skin with hers was during _Don Juan_. Trying desperately to gain her love he had torn down every conceivable wall between them save his mask. Those smooth caresses had been more than pleasurable, yet far from satisfying to him. How he had ached for her, just one kiss, just one honest embrace.

Then the fateful time she did kiss him, her soft mouth tantalizing his with her warmth and delicious taste. Erik had never known the sensation of a kiss so often taken for granted. Those smooth pink lips against his had shaken him to the core. That is what love could feel like.

Then in the midst of such passion and fantasy, his world was torn apart. He realized what a despicable coward he was to curse Christine to a life alone in darkness with an insane freak. She would wither away underground like a fragile rose. What sort of fate was that to condemn an angel to? To be in such happiness and such misery in one climactic instant was the worst sort of pain he had ever known. He had everything he wanted, and was determined to let it go.

"Erik?" Christine had watched as a myriad of emotions had overcome him.

"I do apologize, it seems I forgot myself a moment." He glanced for an instant at her and decided to take advantage of their time together in a way that wouldn't hurt. "Could you accompany me back to the music room?"

She nodded and followed as he stubbornly refused her proffered assistance. Sitting carefully on the bench she had recently occupied, he motioned for her to do the same. Though he kept space between them, her mere presence would more than suffice. Gently he bade her, "speak to me."

"What would you have me say?" she questioned.

"Anything you like," he answered with a faraway voice. His eyes were closed, drinking in the sound of her voice.

Christine had been expecting the angry man who had slept beside her the night before. Though his tone was cool, he wasn't harsh. For that, she was grateful. "I confess I am not certain of what to say." She felt suddenly shy, afraid he would switch again.

"Convince me that your dear fiancée did not try to kill me." There was no emotion in his voice. The absence frightened her. But after a pause she complied.

"We came to opera simply to see the show. He and I never imagined you would be there. Well actually I suspected a bit, but I tried to resist hoping for such an impossibility." As she hastily spoke his fingers began to glide along the keys. The tone conveyed resistance, as though he was fighting her innocence within the music. But he never said a word. "Raoul had asked if I cared to come and of course I agreed. I had longed to attend, but I was rather afraid to ask."

"Why?" the soft murmur of a word did not break his intense trance. The question only flowed easily through his fingers, sounding on the keys.

"Because- because it would hurt him to see me pining for you again. He knew. He knows that I still care for you and it saddens him to see that I cannot just let you go." The chords fell into soft staccatos that sounded much like tears, as though Erik cried at the thought of being forgotten. "I tried so hard not to let him see, but mourning is a powerful thing. It hurt with the same potency as when my father died. There is no solace for that kind of grief." Warm baritone harmonies embraced her in comfort, wrapping her in security. Christine did not realize when the tears began to fall. Erik heard the tremor in her words, but made no move to leave his music, only added that as more inspiration. She continued, "Raoul would not fire a gun anywhere near me, even if you _wer_e there." Harsh lyrics sounded his anger toward her intended. "Plus the bullets were silver; Raoul's are always bronze or gold." There was a pause, the hateful chord suspended before transforming into a melody that spoke of trust and belief. Within the sounds she heard him speak with no words, "I believe you." A soft cry escaped her before she could hold it back. The piano ceased, and suddenly he crooned tenderly, "Shh, Christine." He did not touch her, but his voice was its own kind of comfort.

"I thought you had written your final song?" she questioned between sobs. Try as she might, she could not contain the desolation she had fought so long.

He chuckled soothingly beside her. Lifting her chin, he caught her eyes before explaining. "Yes, Christine that was my intention. But my reasoning behind it was that I would never see you again. You are my muse darling, you are my music embodied. Your every emotion and action sparks the creativity of my mind, spurs the genius of composition to greatness. In your absence there was no song, the refuge of music ceased to hold safety any longer. But now," he gestured with his other hand to the ivory keys," it is as though you never left. The passion and fervor returned the instant you chose me. There is nothing without you. My life has been a meaningless void outside of the minute moments that I watch you. Even those are hollow of any real worth for you never knew I was there." Christine's tears subsided as she listened to such heartfelt sentiments. She realized that she recognized his feelings.

"I-I couldn't sing." She stammered breathlessly. "Not in the way of not wanting, but I truly was unable. My voice rebelled against lifting without you, just as my spirit. But the moment I saw you, it felt only right to sing." The polite concern left his eyes, replaced with awe of her confession.

"Christine, if you are lying, this is the cruelest game you have played yet. You can't play upon my heartstrings this way. To my utter frustration I cannot see past my own emotions to read yours." His hands were at her shoulders, steadying himself against such dangerous thoughts. "Tell me why." He demanded roughly, trying to subdue his feelings.

"I don't know!" She evaded shakily. She cowered under the flicker of rage that threatened in his eyes.

"That isn't good enough," he growled. In a hushed desperation, he insisted, "You know why, you are just hiding it from me." Another moment of silence made him impatient. "Please, Christine." He pleaded with urgency.

Her defense wavered beneath the sudden intensity of his green blue eyes. "There was nothing to sing for. I left part of my heart behind with you, and without it, without you, there was no song." His hands dropped from her arms as though they burned.

"Lies!" he hissed, attempting to block out the deadly hope that threatened to well up within him. The emotion he was warring with threatened to overcome him. How could she taunt him with such encouraging words? Was he not in enough agony without this added hope?

"Why, Erik? Why would I lie to you about this? You asked for reasons and I have given them. Why are you fighting me?" She locked her brown eyes with his, pleading for understanding, for acceptance. The anger that made his hands tremor and his eyes narrow came abruptly to the surface.

"Because," he answered harshly, "It would be easier to cast off your reasoning as lies than to take them to heart. How easily, dear one, you can fill me with wonder and fantastic dreams only to tear them cruelly out of my grasp. So willingly I could believe your words, just to find falsehoods and deception threading through each one. You have no concept of the hurt that entails. That kind if suffering is not the kind I would enjoy repeating." The exhausted sorrow in his tone threatened to crush her with guilt.

This is my penance, she thought bitterly. In leaving him in a lie, I am cursed to never know trust from him again.

"I only speak the truth," she whispered in defeat, "Whether you believe me or not." Erik fists unclenched, softening at the thought. He looked upon her with desolation and tenderness, both conflicting in him at once.

"If only I could, Christine. How beautiful this dream could be, having you safely with me again, knowing you followed of your own free will. Yet, that is all this seemingly amazing illusion is, a dream. One day, not far from now, I will awake alone. You will realize my life no longer hangs by a thread and you will rush back to the Vicomte. No doubt you will remain with me until your guilt subsides. Though what you feel guilty for is beyond me. It is such agony to have you here with me but know it is only temporary. Our little reunion will reach its conclusion and I'll be left once again. How convenient it must be; to be able to run back and forth between two men. But only one has the pleasure of claiming you, and unfortunately that man is not me."

"Erik-,"

"How long?" he interrupted.

"What?"

"How long are you going to stay with me? How long is this reprieve from my solitude going to last? I would rather be aware ahead of time than be surprised one day. So answer me."

Christine just stared mutely into his green eyes, for she knew in her heart that she didn't have a limit, an answer to give him. "I'm not sure." She had never thought ahead to when she would have to leave. Her hand flew to her heart, the sudden pain brought on by the thought of fleeing Erik. Abandoning him seemed like the worst action she could possibly take. But how could she remain with Erik when Raoul was probably anxiously awaiting her return.

Erik watched with panic barely held in check. Christine looked like she had when he had visited her; like she was in unendurable agony. Her hand pressed to her chest as though her heart was literally breaking, and only her clasping fingers could hold it together. "Disregard that inquiry," he told her carefully. "Just please, give me warning if you can. Promise me," he entreated with barely concealed urgency.

"I promise you, Erik. I will not leave without saying goodbye." She echoed sincerely.

"Thank you," he whispered. In a rush of gratitude, he lifted her white hand to his lips, brushing them against her skin in a brief, but unbearably tender kiss. Such contentment overcame him at the feel of her soft flesh against his lips. But after a moment his lightly closed eyes opened, comprehension of his actions dawning. He let her hand drop, glancing in horror at her.

Christine stared back at him, surprise written in her expression. A longing sparked in her eyes that threatened to undo him. "Forgive me," he begged. Rising on unsteady legs, he fled the room as quickly as his condition would allow.

"How could I dare?" he questioned his empty room.

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><p><strong>This chapter was not super fluffy, but what did you think? Please review and tell me how I am doing. Did you enjoy my Erik and Christine moments? Review, review, review!<strong>

**Much love,**

**Bo-leigh bella**


	9. Tempted and Tried

**Chapter 9 is complete. **

**Thanks to some new reviewers: April Lee Bee, Amalia Santoro, and Alice Kettle! **

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**Here is the chapter! Read and review!**

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><p>Christine had searched for Erik, called for him with no reply. After hours with no sort of answer or encouragement, she had given up. She knew he could not have gone far; but she was also acutely aware that if he wished to remain hidden, he would not be found. Left alone her mind wandered to what had caused him to abandon her. He had kissed her. Perhaps not on the lips, though she feared she would have been consumed if he ever did so. Just that one point of contact had made her weak with a desire, a frightening need for his mouth and his hands on much more that just her hand. She had felt her body tremble and her mind swirl as his hot lips had pressed so reverently to her skin. She blushed to remember that burning need.<p>

"_Forgive me,"_ he had asked. His question sounded as though he was begging for absolution from a heinous sin. Before she could attempt an answer, he had vanished from sight with no traces. She knew exactly what she would have assured him; that forgiveness wasn't necessary for he did nothing wrong.

She hated to think that he remained alone believing he had committed a crime against her. Why must we always hurt one another? She ran her fingers through her tangled hair in frustration. Her body was rigid from stress. A delicious idea came to her.

Walking slowly down the hall, she went to Erik's bath chamber. The gold and white décor glistened royally. She was surprised to see that he had running hot water, but extremely pleased. Turning the knob, she filled the huge tub with tempting steamy water. She slipped luxuriously out of her tight dress, reveling in the freedom of feeling her skin breathe. A soft moan escaped her when she gracefully sank into the pool. The tension drained from her person, pulled out from the relaxing bath. Leaning her head against the bow, she rested in contentment.

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><p>Erik mused in one of his hidden rooms. He did not worry that Christine would discover it. He heard her attempted searches and nearly gave in to her beseeching voice. Only with determined restraint did he withstand such a siren call. A single candle flickered, lighting on his uncovered face. He still failed to believe that he had <em>kissed<em> her. He had been surprised that she hadn't screamed and yelled against such an intimate violation of her person. No, there had been no outrage or horror there. But there were other things…

No! He couldn't even have thoughts of such idiocy. If he indulged such sensual fantasies he would surrender all semblance of control. He feared that control would soon be stolen anyhow. Christine only had to turn her eyes on him and he all but became a slave to her whims. How maddeningly difficult it was to remain aloof and detached when he so desperately wanted to please her. Even now he was awaiting a young boy to bring back some purchases for her. The adolescent checked his box every day, doing various tasks that the "wealthy and elderly invalid" sent him to do. At present his duty was to fetch some odds and ends for Erik's "Niece" that would be keeping him company for a time. His instructions were to buy the items then leave them at the front door, where he would receive payment through the mail slot.

Erik drummed his fingers in nervous anticipation. Unlike most, his rhythm had a reason and purpose, as though he was playing imaginary piano keys. His mind travelled back to his guest. He hoped she would be pleased by his gifts.

What was the point either way?

Suddenly he heard the tell-tale thump of a box being set down. Listening for Christine on the stairs, he hurried to slip the check through the door so the boy would leave. When he was certain the child had gone, he grabbed the box and unpacked its contents. He prayed the tokens of his affection might allow Christine to forgive his earlier offense.

Softly, he crept back down to the main underground level of his house. He arranged a few items across his bed so she would be sure to find them. Thankfully she must have been in his library or sitting room, for he never glimpsed the smallest sign of her. Erik was so nervous he failed to feel the steam in the air as he headed toward his bathroom. His hands were brimming with more feminine shampoos and soaps, more suiting his Angel than the masculine scents he used. He pushed the door open. He froze.

"Dear God." Christine's dark hair was dripping wet, her face glistening with tiny droplets of water. The steam had brought a beautiful flush to her skin. Before Erik could stifle the impulse, his eyes devoured every inch of her exposed skin. The top of her white chest peeking above the edge of the tub made his breathing harsh just to look. Then his gaze locked with her brown eyes, shocked and round. Her cheeks were the brightest shade of pink he had ever seen. Backing hastily out of the room, he shut the door to give her privacy and to give himself a barrier. His hands ached to touch and his lips hungered to taste. If he had only stayed seconds longer, he wasn't sure that temptation would not have had its way with him. He could only imagine too clearly what the rest of that beautiful lean figure would have looked like, her skin silky from her bath and hot from the water. Her lovely bare flesh-

"Heaven help me." He growled.

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><p>Christine stared at the door Erik had been standing in only seconds ago. Did he mean to come in and see her? She highly suspected not, his eyes had been all too incredulous for that to be true. She looked down to the bottles he had sat down when he had turned away. Her soaps and perfume sat invitingly. Stepping gently across the floor she picked up the bottles and returned to wash her hair in the comforting sweet and floral scent. Using a huge plush towel to dry, she blushed at the thought of facing him. She cracked the door to see if he was near. She only wore her chemise and pantalets.<p>

Hanging from the curved handle was an intricate gown. It was ice blue with rich black lace trim. She smiled, yet wondered how on earth he had managed to get her a new dress. Deciding not to dwell on such trivial matters, she slipped the dress off the handle and pulled it on over her undergarments. It dipped low in the back and laced down instead of up so she could manage alone. She scandalously left off her corset, realizing the garment was cut to fit her so.

She tiptoed quietly into his bedroom. On the comforter were three more outfits. Erik was nothing if not thorough. Moving them to his closet she began to search for her ghost.

"Erik?"

"In here," came a deceptively confident reply. She followed his voice to the sitting room. He sat in the leather couch, staring into the flames in the hearth. He kept his gaze away from her. "I apologize for my improper conduct earlier. I pray you will forgive me." His tone was careful, as though he feared immediate rejection.

"There is nothing to forgive. You did nothing wrong." She desperately attempted to meet his eye. He evaded easily. "Erik, look at me please." She watched him frown.

"I cannot."

"Why?" When she received no reply she continued timidly. "Is it because of before? That wasn't your fault. Or did you-" Suddenly Christine could not speak, so embarrassed by her own thoughts.

Erik listened attentively, and heard the shift in her voice. She sounded disappointed. Curiosity drove him beyond madness. Surrendering to temptation he turned his head to face her, he carefully analyzed her expression. She looked down and away from him, self-consciousness and mortification in the set of her brow and the pucker of her lips. "Christine?" He breathed. What on earth could have put her into such a state? "What's wrong? Have I done something to upset you?"

"Y-yes, I mean no, not at all." Her voice trembled. Without a second thought Erik was on his feet, trying desperately to discover the cause of her sadness.

Christine would not meet his eye. "Tell me what I have done or what I can change."

"Nothing," she replied. "It's my own vanity that is punishing me. I must be so conceited." She wrung her tightly clasped white hands, attempting to hide the nervous tremors.

"What on earth are you talking about?" Erik was more confused than he had ever been in his life.

"In the bathroom when I was- and now you won't even look at me." She cried softly. Finally startling comprehension dawned.

"You think I did not find you pleasing?" he asked incredulously. She only bit her lip. "Oh, Christine, dearest. What a divinely silly young woman you are. How could I ever find you to be anything short of the beautiful perfection that God created?" She tilted her brown eyes to look up at him. "You are the loveliest creature I have ever seen, never doubt that." He told her sincerely. "I cannot even begin to understand how a goddess like you can even stand to glimpse at a horrid demon like me. It only adds to your beauty. How can I convince you?" He wished nothing more than to erase the miserable expression from her face.

Christine answered before she even thought, "touch me." Erik's eyes widened at the innocent request. It went against everything he had ever known to touch someone, especially Christine. He fought his own nature but succumbed to his need to please her. Holding her gaze, he tentatively lifted his hand to her face, trailing a feather light caress down her cheek with his fingertips. His ungloved hand tingled at the new sensation. She shivered, which made him instantly retreat. Knowing that disgust had found her again made him instantly regret his actions. Only, unknown to him, it was not disgust that caused her to shudder.

"No, please!" She entreated with an urgent need that shocked them both. His guarded wall returned at the sound. His hand clenched in a restrained fist which he quickly lowered to his side.

"Christine, this is dangerous. You do not know what you're asking of me." She loathed hearing control return in his voice.

"Erik, why?" she inquired.

"You are going to leave me!" He suddenly shouted. She flinched. "These touches, yes, simple touches remind me tauntingly of what might have been that never will be. I cannot lose myself to you. There will be nothing left of me if I do."

"I do not want to leave you."

He had turned to go, but stopped. "What did you just say?"

"I don't want to go. So please, at least while we are together, can we just pretend that I never left? That I chose to stay with you? Please, Erik, this is all I want." She saw the turmoil in his eyes. "Please," she whispered again.

His gaze was pained. How he longed for such a chance, but did she realize how this would tempt him? Erik could not fight her; it was against his essential make up to deny her wishes. "Whatever makes you happy, Christine." He sighed. When she walked slowly to curl her arms around him, he could not remember that he supposed to regret it. No, instead he hugged her back, pulling her with him until they fell back against the couch. She cuddled up against his chest, reveling in the strength and safety she felt. For a long timeless moment they simply gloried in their embrace, not thinking past the present. Neither had any desire to end such simple comfort they had been denied so long.

The very experience of holding another person mystified Erik. Never had he hugged someone close. Having Christine reclining against his chest heightened every sense. The aroma of her hair teased his nostrils. Every tiny point of contact where her body merged with his flamed as though she branded him with her touch. He happily burned, tightening his arms around her.

Erik gasped when her nails absentmindedly trailed his forearms, brushing light caresses to his skin. "Sorry." She said, pulling her hand away. Before she could succeed, he trapped it to his skin.

"Don't apologize," he murmured in a deep husky voice. "You cannot imagine how- how amazing that feels." He could practically feel her smile, knowing she had pleased him.

Deciding to test her undefined limits, she asked, "So does this mean I can interrogate you again?"

"Oh yes, I am your willing and humbled prisoner." He smirked, the sheer irony of the word prisoner amusing him.

She suddenly became serious. "How are you still alive? I mean shouldn't you have-"

"Died? No, whoever shot me was inexperienced. They missed all the vitals, though I did lose a terrible amount of blood. Also I am quite certain they were standing too far away to do irreparable damage. Using a hand gun from too great a distant makes it much less effective."

The slight humor in his tone eased her worry. Christine heard the hum of his rich voice, the sound relaxed her.

"My turn," He suddenly declared.

"Pardon me?"

"Surely you do not presume that you will receive all the questions? That is hardly fair. So now I get one."

She felt a nervous flutter in her stomach. "Alright, what are you curious about, Erik. I assumed you knew everything Monsieur Phantom." He chuckled, the sound vibrating deep within his chest.

"No, not everything; it seems the most desirable information is harder to attain. Tell me; is there still a charm above your ankle?" She lifted mischievous eyes at him. "Well?" he taunted. He had meant to discover the answer for some time. He had not had the opportunity until now.

In response she slowly lifted the hem of her gown, revealing the smallest portion of her calf and ankle to him. There it sat, resting in its coveted place. The black silk stood out in dark contrast to her peachy skin.

Erik had not imagined she would have kept it. The final token taken from her last red rose; the simple black ribbon stood for her devotion to him. For all this time she had kept it. Just that one delicious piece of knowledge made him love her all the more. "I can't do this." He whispered more to himself than Christine. She heard and saw the swift change in his demeanor.

"Please, Erik. Just let me-" He carefully disentangled himself from their embrace, gentle but determined. He stood looking down at her, vainly attempting to decipher her every emotion.

"Christine, do you care for me, even a little?" His question was sudden and more crucial than she could ever comprehend.

"Yes, of course I do. Why else would I be here?"

"Then, please, for my sake. Allow me to just let you go." His cool reply left her speechless, she watched him turn and ascend the steps.

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><p>That night, sleeping alone in his huge bed, Christine tried to find the miracle she sought for. Her mind failed at every attempt to conjure up a way back into his heart. One desolate thought reoccurred constantly. What if I have truly lost him? Isn't that only justice considering their past? She had pushed him out of her life time and again. What right did she have to claim him now?<p>

None. And wasn't it cruel of her to ask him to pretend? Especially when he wanted the tangible, the real affection? Or perhaps now he didn't. Maybe her past betrayals finally hardened his heart beyond repair. She refused to believe such a thing. The future frightened her. Leaving Erik for Raoul would be… unbearable. But what choice did she have? Hard questions and fleeting answers eventually faded into dreams.

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><p>Erik did not gain the relief of unconsciousness. His mind stirred restlessly. The lack of sleep had little effect on him physically. Rarely did he succumb to slumber. He was astonished to realize he had slept through the night before. Blood loss and fatigue, he reasoned. He barely felt the irritating wounds, though it had only been days. His body could function and respond normally under more dire conditions. He saw the injuries only as a temporary nuisance now.<p>

At present his hands were flying rapidly over sheet music, racing to write out the masterpieces captive in his head. His Angel of Music had returned, and unaware sang songs with no words to him. Only he could translate her silent compositions into the fantastic symphonies he currently was consumed by. The fountain pen in his hand shook, its master overcome with emotion. His hands were stained sporadically in blue, spatters hinting at the destroyed ink pens that had been snapped like twigs in his powerful fingers when he responded physically to his feelings.

Erik knew in that dark place in his mind that, when she fled, his music would surely die forever. There would be no resurrection. Remembering the precious moments he had shared in only two days had transformed into pages and pages of genius. The lullaby he had heard from her playing evolved into an aria that rivaled any he had ever written before. Her questions flowed in melodies; the picture of her in the tub and delicious feel of her skin ran through passionate strands of echoing harmony. Her emotions sounded in every pitch and every lyric reflected his.

He became a man possessed in soul and mind. Hurtful, hateful images spun through his mind, crashing against his sanity with sickening clarity. Christine's eyes were closed in sweet ecstasy, her lips bruised with passionate kisses. The Vicomte held her in his pathetic arms, twisted contentment upon his face.

She ran away from him, after saving his life. Terrified of the dark creature she found, she fled to the safe shelter of the boy. No matter his argument, he could not convince her of his love. She denied and shunned him.

Darker, she pulled the trigger herself. She laughed as she killed him.

Worse than the conjured imaginings, were memories. She smiled beguilingly at Erik, tricking him into belief of her love, and then ripped off his mask for the entire blasted world to see and scorn. How they shrieked and screamed at his hideous visage. How they yelled and condemned him for things beyond his control. She laid him bear to that! She seduced him into misery, allowed him to be shamed before all. She had broken him, shattered his stone heart in her delicate white fingers and grinned at her victory.

Oh his past remained just as deliciously tainted. He had abused her then, threatened to use her for the rest of their miserable existence. How he had craved it. The monster inside him begged and hungered to keep his little songbird captive for eternity, wanted to make her suffer as he had. But he could not bring himself to do it! So weak, the all powerful Phantom brought to sniveling tears by a girl. His heart could not withstand caging her, watching her resentment and hate for the remainder of his life. Her words, those razors had killed the demon within, exorcising him with vicious reality.

_Pitiful creature of darkness._

_It's in your soul, that the true distortion lies. _

_The tears I might have shed for your dark fate grow cold and turn to tears of hate!_

_You deceived me. _

Pitiful! Distorted! Hated! Deceitful! What hideously beautiful truths she applied to her Angel.

The final crescendo was the darkest most threatening sound he had created. It was agonized, furiously pounding toward the climax of the piece. His pain and his anger morphed into a sinister dirge; the last requiem for the eminent death of his soul. He locked it away in the stanzas of music, hoping to ease his suffering heart. The bleeding feeling of releasing control left him with nothing for her, save fury that she had incited this all again. Without her soft face before him, he could permit himself to be enraged directly at her. The last rapidly written chords sounded out his helplessness, the vulnerability that horrified him so completely.

Finally, in sharp, aggressive cursive he bequeathed a title to the opera. _To Love Christine, Burning Alive_

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><p><strong>So this chapter was in response to the reviews asking why Erik could not just let go and love Christine. Hopefully you can see his battle a bit more clearly.<strong>

**Please please please review! I truly appreciate each and every one! **

**Much love!**

**~bo-leigh bella**


	10. Intensity

**I give you guys a challenge and what happens? You rise up to meet it! I asked for 100 reviews and the final tally is… 105! Thank you so much! I'm a very happy author.**

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**(If you wanted a personal response and did not get one, sorry. Please pm me or tell me in your review and I will definitely answer.)**

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><p>Erik never slept that night. The following morning he retained the detachment and deference that his binge had granted him. He had spent his emotions, though the anger and pain still lingered, whispering hateful thoughts in his mind. He studiously ignored them. If anything he hoped to avoid cruelty with Christine. Goodness knows how well that had worked for him last time.<p>

He sat in his large gilded throne before the hearth. Fire had always soothed him. Watching its deceptively gentle power allowed him to relax in a state close to rest. The warmth contradicted the chill of his stone home. He wondered vaguely if it ever bothered Christine to reside in such a cold place. Then he quickly reminded himself to stop dwelling on her, if only that was possible. He rubbed his temple in irritation.

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><p>Christine stood in the archway that served as an entrance to his sitting room. She watched him sadly, recognizing his depressed state immediately. She knew from past experience that he had not known any period of rest that night. She also knew it was all her doing. <em>Allow me to just let you go.<em> What an awful and hurtful request that had been. Let her go? What had happened to her Phantom that never gave up without fighting for his love? Where was his bravado and confidence she was so accustomed to? She wanted so badly to scream at him to wage war again with fate and pull her back into his world. How she would welcome it this time. "You have given me up, haven't you?" she whispered solemnly.

Erik stiffened upon discovery of her presence. She walked to the side of the hearth, looking her angel in the eye. He marveled at her sudden burst of bravery. She did not cower as she awaited an answer to her question, only stood with resolute acceptance of the answer to come. But studying her large brown eyes, he saw a great fear and grief that she held at bay. "What do you want to hear Christine? I do not know what you want from me. I cannot even begin to puzzle out why you are still here."

"I want you to say no. Don't just surrender. Why now?" Her words began to resonate off the stone as the volume increased.

He was on his feet and in her face in less time than she had to comprehend movement. "Why, why Christine! Is that truly what you want to know? Hmm?" His eyes were so close she could not look anywhere else besides the flaming green depths. "You naïve child, you do not understand at all do you? I have lost you! What point is there in battling for you anymore? You rejected me, decided that I was not where your future lay. I gave you the choice, placed it into your cruel little hands. You threw it back into my face with a vengeance." Violence boiled up to the surface.

"Choice?" She interrupted suddenly. "No, Erik I do not recall a choice. I remember all too clearly an ultimatum that could result in death of another man. That isn't a choice; that is a threat." She countered, matching his fury.

"So my methods are not the coddling and gentility you are used to. Forgive me if I am not your well mannered Vicomte. No matter what you call that night, you sealed your fate in that one lie of a kiss. How that burned me, Christine. You cannot begin to grasp the intensity of the pyre. To know you had deceived me with a kiss. Such wounds harm me much more than pathetic bullets from a manmade instrument of violence. The weapons that harm me are not of substance and tangibility. They are raw emotions, power you have over me to destroy my very soul."

"But that kiss-" she attempted to interrupt, but was hastily silenced.

"And how you did. Life ceased to hold any purpose for me. I had spent so long striving for your love that there was not anything left. Music betrayed me Christine, music! It taunted me with my own incompetence. Dear God, I never thought to lose that sanctuary. Yet it dissolved like smoke. I am nothing but a shell without you. I might as well have been in a tomb for all the life that I possessed. How can you ask me to fight? I cannot anymore. This time you won't just leave me bleeding and wounded. I will die Christine. If I let you control my heart again, your leaving will obliterate it into nothingness. So yes, I have given you up! It is the only way to survive the pain that is to come. If you wanted me so much, why did you flee?" he roared, his anger completely unleashed. She cringed, but he caught her arms roughly, holding her in place.

"I didn't." she cried softly. "You sent me away."

"Excuse me?" he demanded.

"Y-you sent me away." She stammered remembering that dark night. "I kissed you because that was my decision, Erik. You call it a lie! I have never had a more truthful moment in my life. I chose you, and you told me to leave. You didn't want me." Her words wavered and trembled.

"That kiss was a desperate attempt to save your precious Vicomte and nothing more! Do not dare tell me otherwise." he warned viciously, glaring into her brown eyes. "I do not need your comforting stories of what I want to hear. I accepted what happened and gave you your wish. I let you go have your happy ending with the boy. I could have trapped you with a villain for eternity, but I know you deserve better."

"I wanted to stay, Erik. Not under the guise of being coerced but because I wanted you. I kissed you to prove it, to convince you. And yet you denied me." Her voice was no longer frightened, but resentful and angry from the hurt of that scene.

He released her abruptly and turned to face the fire. Too many what ifs were slamming against proper thought. He could not believe her, no it was too dangerous. Yet her claims would make all the nonsense in the present make sense. "I cannot believe you, Christine." The sudden controlled tone took her by surprise. "It would hurt too much."

"Let me prove it."

"And how do you intend to do that, mon _ange_?" The normally gentle endearment lost its sweetness, sarcasm tarnishing it.

"Whatever it takes to convince you, Erik," she stated. He laughed a humorless chuckle, knowing exactly how to bring her back into reality.

"And what of most dear Raoul? Have you decided to just forget him? I cannot imagine you just leaving your fiancée behind to pursue me." He turned to see her face fall. "Exactly. You will toy with my emotions for a time, convince me of a fantasy. Then you will leave and return to the life of a Vicomtess that awaits you." Brought to bitterness by his own words, he continued roughly, "Such a bleak existence you return so vehemently to. Sure, you will possess riches and servants, but your soul will suffer. He does not want you to continue singing, does he?" He did not wait for her weak protests. "I would be willing to wager that he has already tried to persuade you to quit. He was crafty, saying you shouldn't 'tire yourself' or some such idiocy." He saw the defensive hurt, he had found the mark. "I see I am correct. He will cage you because a lady of society does not perform. His high class comrades would call you vulgar. Such hypocrites! They support the arts in funding and attend every opera in town yet scorn the hands that write and voices that sing. That is the world you will inhabit. What respectable imprisonment you have given yourself to."

"And what if he had asked me to discontinue my career? There was no point without you! I ended it myself after I collapsed. My choice, not his." His accusations toward Raoul had stung, for she knew the truth in them. She had to defend him even so, partly to ease her own guilt. Betrayal rang in her conscience.

"Even worse. You denied yourself, Christine. I thought I had taught you better than that. Apparently I have fooled myself into believing you were stronger than you are." Cruel, his mind threatened. But he was beyond caring, so intense was his pain. He wanted her to suffer with him, let her experience the heartache he was so accustomed to.

"When did you ever encourage my strength? You would berate me and yell at me if I displeased or offended you. I would cower like a child beneath your temper." She threw her own blades into his heart.

"Only because you would hurt me. I never intended to harm your spirit. But how could you expect me to react any other way when those moments were incited by your own callous cruelty? That was me defending myself. No, the strength I speak of is in your soul; the innermost heart that I have guarded since the beginning. Who comforted you and listened to you when your father passed? Who encouraged you when Carlotta tried to crush your tender pride? Who listened to you cry and told you to get up stronger than you fell? Who instructed and molded your heart to translate music into existence? Was it not I?"

"I could sing before I met you." It was the only argument she had, for all his statements were truth.

"Yes, yes you could sing. However ability and excellence are two very different aspects of song. You know as well as I that the melody of your soul would never have surfaced without my guidance. Years I slaved over the very idea! I saw it Christine, the very day I happened upon you. I glimpsed the purity and innocence in your core that is the most sincere beauty in existence. I allowed you into my world to guide you. I revealed to you how to truly live. I gave your voice its wings and there was brilliancy. And now you will just throw it all away!" He was livid at the very thought of such insolence.

"That isn't fair. Why must I continue when you let your music die? You told me so, Erik. You vowed not to write again. If my stopping is a crime, then yours is a sin. Your compositions were the very inspiration of my soul. No one has a gift to rival yours and you would lock it away. How I despised the letter that told me so, especially in light of your finale. I haven't even heard it played, yet I know it is greatness."

"No, Christine. That piece is not 'greatness'. Not compared to the rich songs that flood my mind now; which is exactly why I ceased to compose. Only with my 'angel of music' can I create masterpieces. Yet she continues to abandon me and shamefully torment me."

"Torment you? Is that all I am to you Erik? Some hateful creature that only causes you harm? Does your heart hold nothing but hatred for me now?" Though Christine's heart ached, she held quick to her anger, fighting to control the tears that welled in her eyes.

"You do not want to know the extent of what my heart feels for you Christine. I have seen how only glimpses have frightened you. So naïve, you have no concept of your affect on me, no grasp of your unbreakable hold. No, you are not hateful. If only I hated you, how simple my life would be. Instead I struggle with emotions you cannot fathom to have towards one such as myself." He winced as he saw her sorrow, but hid it well.

"Then stop hiding." She entreated. "Show me, Erik. Show me what you feel."

He grabbed her wrist suddenly, pulling her flush against him. Unleashing the force of his gaze on her, he let his emotions show. She gasped at the desire she felt and struggled against his restraining arm that pinned her wrist behind her back. With his free hand he tilted her chin up. His green eyes searched her for a measureless moment. For the briefest moment she thought he would kiss her. But he gritted his teeth, regaining control of himself. "No," he stated, "I will not show you. If your affection is still torn between two men, I have no inclination to demonstrate my feelings to you."

Christine's brow creased. That was low and he knew it. But it also was completely fact and she had no side to argue. "Tell me I am wrong." He challenged. She did not realize how badly he wanted to hear it. "Tell me!" He commanded again.

"I can't." The two words were like a spark to ignite the explosion.

"Why?" He begged of her as he once had begged her picture. "You want me to fight for you, yet you give me nothing in return. Nothing. And I want you, all of you. Every single facet of your heart and nuance of your mind, I covet. To just hear the words 'I love you' applied to me for once, but that is too much to ask of you isn't it?" Venom was in every phrase. So intense were his words that Christine could not speak or rebuke him. "Instead, the boy has your love and I only hold your fascination and interest, such weak sentiments in comparison. Why can't you just let go?" he questioned, thoroughly exasperated. "Let your heart stray in one direction or the other, but for heaven's sake stop fighting yourself." He paused to take a steadying breath, her mere proximity clouding his mind. "I can feel the erratic rhythm of your heart even as I see the indecision in your eyes; just as you are here with me, yet engaged to another." With a quick jerk, he pulled her left hand up between them. "How the reflections off this jewel mock me. Have you forgotten the significance of this gem on your finger?" He asked roughly, twisting her palm so the gaudy ring sparkled in the firelight. "It is further proof that any battle for you now is already lost. I'm so tired of sacrificing everything with no gain. I'm so horribly sick of your rejection and duplicity. The irony is I cannot simply demand that you leave me. My essentially selfish nature won't allow me to release your company so easily. Instead I suffer under the weight of my desire. Grateful, I suppose that I can feel anything at all. At least I feel alive, if not happy. You cannot imagine the new darkness I have lived in for the past months. Such depressing angst and sorrow, such cruel solitude you left me to. You!" He yelled the accusation, causing her to cringe, even while in the hold of his hands. When he witnessed her recoil, his entire expression darkened.

"Yes, Christine," he whispered in a deep menacing timbre. "Be afraid of the monster you know is inside me. You should be frightened of that demon that hid behind the guise of an angel. That heavenly creature does not reside in me any longer." He looked away, hiding the shame he never wished for her to see. "Perhaps he never did. Perhaps I only hoped that if I could convince you, then just maybe I would be worthy. But I'm not, I never was, and I never will be." He said this last with a hopeless defeat that was poignant in his voice.

"Erik, you're not a demon or unworthy. That isn't who you are." She tried vainly to persuade him.

"Yes it is!" He roared in adamant denial. "It is who I always have been. That's the reason you left me. That's why I did not argue or come after you. I hate myself and what I do to you. If I tried to seduce you or pull you back into my grasp, I wouldn't be able to let you go again. Ever. You would be my prisoner, treasured, but captive just the same. I do not fight, for I want better things for you than that. I want better than even the Vicomte for you. So my hands are tied. There is no answer but to give you what you chose."

"If that is so, why aren't you mine?" she cried suddenly. "If you let go, I will as well, I promise. But you hold to your idea of what you believe is best for me. Let me choose. Please." Erik looked down at her in agony, a small disbelieving cry escaping him. Before he could leap readily into such an idea, he thrust her away, putting physical distance between him and the enticing offer. He turned away before she could see the glistening moisture in his eyes.

His back to her, she saw his fists rapidly clench and unclench. "The moment that ring leaves your finger is the moment I will surrender." He whispered in a strangely emotionless tone. Giving her no chance to reply, Erik left the room, leaving his temptress to her thoughts.

She heard the door to his music room slam, the resounding harsh echo making her jolt. Closing her aching eyes, she fell back against the couch. The crackling fire did little to warm her body. Her heart felt encased in ice. She shivered violently, and curled in a ball. Only when she heard the infuriated and heartbroken pounding of dissonant chords did she let herself cry. She brushed her upper arms and wrists with her fingers, feeling the sting of her tender flesh he held so roughly, and welcoming the pain. She stared at the huge diamond on her third finger, torn by her feelings for her fiancée. Erik or Raoul? The question became harder to answer every day.

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><p><strong>I will honestly admit I haven't been this apprehensive about an update in a while. So if you enjoyed it, please tell me so and review.<strong>

**I now have an update on updates section on my profile. If I know when I will be posting, it will be there.**

**Thanks to my beta, as always, WeLoveWeLive. Her wonderful advice helps add to this story so much.**

**Hope to hear from all my loyal followers and maybe even some new people.**

**Much love!**

**~bo-leigh bella**


	11. Stalemate

**All I can say is WOW! 22, that is the number of reviews Intensity received! I am so grateful and so encouraged. I am very fortunate to have so many readers who take the time to tell me what they think. I feel bad for not posting this chapter sooner. Truth is the holidays took up some writing time, so I apologize.**

**As for acknowledgments (this shall be quite a list): x0allisonqt0x, Starcrier, AngelBreeze, Nuria786, AmberTyphosisShittyDick, BandGeek25, Laania, The Fan of Almost Everything, Elysse Fray 111, Alice Kettle, AnimationLuvrs2, LoryLily, darkgemwildcat, CaptainHooksGirl, Zebrakatten, Tbnasib3, Alana Fox, and Katherine Jason Destler thanks a million! I received so many compliments, I'm not sure what to do with them all. You made me extremely happy.**

**Personal Responses: WolfieLovesSilently- Thanks for your flattery in calling me brilliant and a hidden genius. I really try, but I've never felt that amazing. ;)**

**Why Fireflies Flash- It astounds me the emotional responses people have to my story, and I adore them. Using Erik's words to compliment, perfect, loved it :D**

**Amalia Santoro-I appreciate your optimism and excitement for my story. It pleases me to know people enjoy it so much.**

**angelofmusic75- (might I call you Aubrey? Such a lovely name) Light criticism of my work is welcome. But please, not too harsh. Truth be told I am very sensitive. Please continue with positives as well :) you know I enjoy them. **

**Without further suspense, enjoy!**

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><p>Raoul stood in the doorway of what used to be his fiancée's room. She no longer occupied the space of course. Christine had been missing for close to a week. No matter how thoroughly the police and hired investigators searched, they could never puzzle out where she had gone. One had possessed the impudence to suggest that perhaps the actress did not wish to be found.<p>

"How can you even say that? She was abducted by a murderer. Why in the world would she not want to be found?" Under the sudden anger of the Viscount, the man had been silent.

Now he wandered through her room, relishing the traces of her that still lingered. It smelled like her, the light scent of her perfume wafted in the air. He strode to her three mirror vanity. He fingered the bristles of her brush and traced over her memory box. His hand encountered the edge of a paper. Curious as to what parchment would be so important to her, he lifted the lid. He naturally expected a letter from her father, or perhaps a love note he had sent her. As always with Christine, he was wrong.

Sheet music. That is what his eyes immediately recognized. The finale in his hands seemed extremely confusing to his untrained sight. The many notes wove in and out of one other in what seemed a blurring mess to him. The lyrics were in plain English however, so he could read them well enough. The tune spoke of love, all the aspects of it. He mused that it would be like her to treasure such a meaningful piece.

Only when he skimmed the last page did he realize what he held. Beneath the last line were two distinctly unforgettable letters.

_O.G._

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><p>She sat with her back braced against the ebony doors of his music room. The raging music had repelled her, yet attracted her to come closer. Christine pressed her cheek against the wood, wanting to savor each sound. Then suddenly she recognized the song, though she had never heard it before. <em>Lost Love<em> played out mournfully; each note sorrow in its own right, raining down on her. She recalled vividly the lines that would have accompanied his music. His voice did not lift to lament, yet she heard him in her mind.

_Love cannot be stolen and love can never fail_

_It lives through every battle, somehow will prevail_

_True love never falters and true love never dies_

_Never shall surrender the heart where in it lies_

_Love is not of measure and love is not of cost_

_Yet my love has been won, and lost_

The transition to the next verse _sounded_ utterly lost, so completely betrayed. She could not help herself; she rewrote all the lines that were imprinted on her heart. She lifted her voice to tell him what he would not believe.

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><p>Erik sat at his grand piano, performing a song that had laid dormant in his mind, but now broke to the surface. With the focus of his emotion so close, it was only natural. He no longer cared if she heard or not. It was all hers anyways. Everything he had was hers. His hands flew across the keys, his eyes closed so no other sense like sight could distract him. Then he heard it. Her voice. She was so close, and the beautiful instrument serenading him sent shivers down his spine. But the words ... The melody was his. Yet the lyrics seemed off. He listened closer, and could barely continue when he really heard.<p>

"_Love cannot be shaken and love cannot be bruised_

_It knows nothing of neglect, knows nothing of abuse_

_True love never falters and true love never dies_

_It may only go in hiding underneath a sad disguise_

_Yes love knows no measure and love has not cost _

_And angel my love for you, could never be lost"_

The fluid motion of his gliding fingers could hardly stay in tempo with such a sound. His entire body was trembling under waves of pleasure and grief. Her voice caressed him with its very essence that filled the air. Yet, the words she spoke shattered the defenses he so carefully guarded his heart with. He continued playing, wishing, longing, needing her voice to tell him more. But after the bridge, she remained silent. But he could feel her presence. She hadn't left.

He tightened the muscles in his jaw, choking back what he wanted to plead. Against his will, he whispered, "Sing," through clenched teeth. He knew she wouldn't be able to understand his command through the thick door, but he hated his own weakness just the same. In spite of his revulsion toward giving in, he listened harder, hoping she would release the beautiful tone of her voice again.

"_Please forgive me." _It was the first time she had ever asked such a thing. Erik's hands fell on a chord and ceased to move. His shoulders heaved in silent cries. Leaping up from the piano stool, he strode to the door. He unlocked it and threw it wide, needing to see her.

Christine was on her knees, her skirt spilling about her. Her curls fell about her face while red-rimmed eyes looked up at him with all the hope she had once demonstrated for an angel. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. Erik did not wait for her to say anything more. He bent down and gathered her small body into his arms. Then he carried her into the sitting room, cradling her against his chest. She buried her face in his neck, her tiny frame shaking. Sitting in his throne he held her, soothing her while his own tears ran down his unmasked cheek. He rubbed her arms, grimacing when he saw the light purple imprints where he had grabbed her. The guilt that crushed him made his protective embrace tighten.

"Why can't I refrain from hurting you, Christine? It seems no matter how hard I try, I always harm you. How can you even ask for forgiveness from one such as me? I have so many sins of my own to atone for. Not the least of which is daring to put my unworthy hands on your body." Christine watched the contrition in his eyes, knowing he blamed himself wrongly. Softly, carefully she took his hand and brought it to her lips. She kissed his palm, sighing against his skin. Erik's intake of breath was rough. "S-stop," he stuttered, his normal elegance of speech abandoning him. The gentle touch of her mouth against his hand made his blood run hot and his heart pound almost painfully within his ribs. He longed for that light touch against his lips.

"Forgive me," she begged again. She wanted his answer. A tear fell against him before she placed a kiss on each one of his long musician's fingers. She was startled at how smooth they were.

"Christine, you must stop. Ah! Heaven above, Christine, stop," he gasped in between each finger. Yet he made no move to recoil from her. His body pressed nearer to her without his volition.

"Forgive me," she whispered. Her lips pressed to where his pulse quickened in his wrist. "Please."

A shudder wracked his frame under the sensations that consumed him. Her tender caresses were so innocent in nature, yet they heightened his passion and made his mind swirl under the intoxication. "And I believed myself to be the master of manipulation," he said hoarsely. "Yes, Christine, dear heaven yes."

"Yes, what?" she questioned further, wanting absolute assurance.

"Yes, I forgive you." She smiled. "But my stipulation still unfortunately applies. I want you so intensely. But, I want you all for myself." Her triumphant joy dissipated under the realization of his words. "Therefore, you cannot remain his betrothed or you cannot become mine."

Pondering his explanation silently, she twisted the engagement ring. Did she possess the strength, the bravery to leave Raoul for the Opera Ghost? She grimaced. Did she have the cruelty within her to do so?

His tone became gentle. "Am I truly asking for so much? I simply want you to give me a chance to have you, Christine." A chance to love you, he silently amended. "But, you must understand. If you choose to give me that chance, you will have to accept all of me. Every mysterious and frightening aspect of my nature will become yours." As he said this, he brushed his fingers along the light bruises on her arms. Silently, he reminded her of what could happen when he lost his carefully monitored control. "I am not going to force you into anything. The choice is yours. It is completely in your hands whether to accept or reject me. I will honor whatever conclusion you come to."

Having both paths laid before her again caused a tearing sensation within her. It was as if two invisible forces were pulling her in painfully opposite directions. One was her mind, insisting vehemently that leaving Raoul would be a heartless, cruel thing to do. It brought to recollection the repercussions of her decision. Finality would reign supremely this time. Yet, betraying him so completely struck the tender conscience within. It screamed of the wrong doing it would be to abandon him without even his knowledge of being left. He would surrender her with no opportunity to fight for her.

Her heart begged for the other alternative; to abandon herself to Erik's affection. She longed to leap back into the darkness with her Phantom and rewrite every abused chapter of their intertwined lives. She felt in her soul, where no falsehood could survive, that her Erik deserved to be loved as passionately as he himself could love. And she wanted to be the one to bestow that sacred bond upon him, to sear their futures irrevocably as one. Erik had been right when he said society would cage her. With him, she could be free, be herself with no judgment to hinder her. She could be the Christine that she had suppressed since leaving him.

"I don't know what I _should_ do," she admitted softly. "But, I do know what I want." Her eyes looked pointedly into his, making her wanted path known.

"And that is?" he questioned in a husky timbre.

"You, always you," she replied without hesitation or regret. Two emotions he had expected to see in her.

"How?" he asked without attempting to hide his surprise. "How can you want me? I'm so dark, so hideously different from others in the world. I'm… I'm a monster, Christine." He tried to read fear or remorse in her expression, but found nothing save honesty.

"No," she disagreed lightly. "You're an angel." She smiled shyly at the title. Erik felt its desired effect fully. He remembered how easy, how natural and pure their relationship had been in the time when he was her angel. But thoughts darkened when he recalled that his role had only been deception and manipulation.

"That was a lie," he stated simply.

"How can it have been so when you watched over me like a guardian and sheltered me? You are the closest thing to heaven on this earth. And Angel of Music is a much more befitting title than Phantom of the Opera for you."

"But, Phantom and Ghost reside in me still Christine. Those personas have become a part of who I am. Can you accept them? And though you know what you want, will you have the courage to take it? Will you surrender your heart to me or continue to share it with your Vicomte?" The cloud of brown curls lowered, hiding her face.

"I don't know, Erik. Why do I have to keep making choices? I am so tired of ultimatums and us hurting one another over decisions made or unmade, wrong or right. Why can't you just allow what happens between us to happen and continue from there?"

"Do you really not already know the answers to your ridiculous questions? Is it so hard to just choose? I assure you it is far more despicable of you to hide the answers. I do require them, immensely so. I need to be sure that this isn't just some game you're playing. I need to know that you won't run out of my arms and into the Vicomte's at the first opportunity. What if our roles were reversed?" She stared back in confusion. "It's a long shot, I'll give you that. But, what if some rich little heiress had her sights set on me? What if we were engaged, but I came after you again? Would you not want all my attentions? Would you be content sharing my heart?"

Suddenly Christine felt hatred. A burning hate for the nonexistent rival consumed her heart. It surprised her how thoroughly upset she could be over a fictional woman. Yet she could see all too clearly another girl in Erik's arms. His hypnotic voice calming her tears. She could not imagine Erik adoring anyone else. It hurt beyond bearing just to think of it. "How can you stand feeling this way?" she asked brokenly.

"It isn't without difficulty," he responded roughly. "Especially knowing you share his home and he has the blessing of living every minute of every day with you under his care. You are his fiancée, so caresses and kisses are his for the taking. Once you wed, everything will be his." He swallowed. "Stealing you away was a constant temptation."

"But you never gave in." The sentence sounded like an accusation.

"No, I resisted. I hoped to let you have that life. A beautiful life of happiness and the lovely dream you deserve."

"As you have said, that life isn't any more than a cage for me."

"Yet, I wonder if mine would be any less confining than his. Could you bear being so ostracized from the rest of the world? Would you be... ashamed of me? For I cannot change this hideous beast that you have seen. Nothing behind my masked has miraculously vanished because your attention has turned on me. I wish it were so." His voice became soft, hesistant to speak his deepest fears. "You cannot imagine how I long to be beauty itself for you. For then, perhaps you could forget the darkness inside. Then at least I could stand proudly at your side out in the world. But no, both aspects of me are deformed and tarnished. Society will not accept me simply because you have. They will still fear me and the mystery of the mask. For, surely no upright, no truly good person would have need of such an accessory. People do not like differences among them. They shun the weird, the strange, and the originals. They do not possess the courage to stand out themselves. So, instead they condemn those that do, as if it is their natural right to do so. If you somehow concede to be mine, you will be in that poor group of the misunderstood. You will be hated by association alone. Will you suffer that? Can you?" He looked truly worried for her. In his mind, he wondered if he could seal such a fate for her. Could he be so selfish?

"Erik, have you not been watching as closely as I suspected? When have I ever been included in society? I am an actress. Loved purely for that title. Outside of the voice you have given me, no one takes interest in me." She could see his unspoken protests. "Aside from Meg and Raoul, and they both knew me before my success on stage. My voice is all that people adore. But after giving me a flower or a compliment, people disappear. For no one can be seen publicly with a thespian on their arm. We are apparently shameless and vulgar. I don't want attention from people who cannot see past the word that defines me. Not if that is all I can ever be to them."

He could see it coming in her eyes, "But...?" he asked sadly.

"But, I cannot simply leave Raoul without a backward glance. I am engaged to him, and he does...," she took a breath, fearing Erik's temper. "He does love me."

"And do you love him back?" He asked cuttingly. Her words had hurt.

"I'm not sure anymore." He could barely hear her whisper, despite his acute senses. It was an admission she despised to reveal to anyone.

"No, you've never been sure in your feelings for either one of us. Why should I expect that to change now?" he questioned sarcastically.

"Please, Erik, don't." She couldn't take his pain while she was burdened so heavily with her own. Yet she could not ignore the bite of it saturating his voice.

He sighed. He felt just as exhausted of fighting as she did. He wanted nothing more than for it to be done with. But for that to happen, she would have to make a definitive choice. A choice she didn't seem intent on making at the moment. Holding his tongue, he stood with Christine in his arms.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm putting you to bed."

"And are you...will you be staying with me?" She couldn't help asking hopefully.

"No." The answer was short and cold, telling her just how exasperated he was.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

He sighed again, "I know." He walked slowly to his room, cherishing the feel of having her soft body held so tightly against his. For exactly this reason he could not sleep with her. Even if it was only in the literal sense. The entire situation would be far too tempting for his present state of mind. He set her gently down against the red sheets, looking regretfully at her disappointed expression. She sat up on the pillows, watching him leave.

"Goodnight, Erik." Her tone was so hushed, it sounded almost seductive to him. He stifled a shiver before replying in kind.

"Sweet dreams, Christine."

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><p><strong>Thank you for reading! Please don't judge too harshly on the lyrics. Its hard to write in Erik's stead.<strong>

**As always, major props for WeLoveWeLive, my talented beta.**

**If you enjoyed and want more, PLEASE review! I love them, adore them, can't get enough of them.**

**Oh, and if you weren't aware, I now have a poll for your favorite chapter of Lost Love and a short story awaiting you on my profile.**

**The One She Runs To is short but I hope any loyal readers (or anyone interested for that matter) will take a look. Would love to hear what ya'll think.**

**Much love!**

**~bo-leigh bella**


	12. Dancing with the Devil

**Chapter 12 is now up! I sincerely hope you all enjoy it. I've had this chapter waiting since chapter 8 I believe. Now it has a place.**

**Thanks a billion to my lovely and brilliant reviewers! Major love for you all! CaptainHooksGirl, Starcrier, WolfieLovesSilently, Sleepest-Angel, AngelBreeze, The Fan of Almost Everything, Alice Kettle, Roamerfromaofw, Alana Fox, smilin steph, AmberTyphosisShittyDick, Zebrakatten, Madam Oakheart a Shisou Kamen, x0allisonqt0x, AnimationLuvrs2, AprilLeeBee, and mayalewis16**

**Personal Responses:**

**darkgemwildcat- Thanks for the love for the lyrics, and yes some inspiration was taken from Webber's sequel.**

**Why Fireflies Flash- Awesome! You thought my lyrics were the real thing. Haha and I always love your reviews, so no worries on the 'amazing' thing. **

**Aubrey or Venture Wood-angelofmusic75 (thanks for permission)- Definitely not surprising that we have similar tastes (even in video games). Your comment about my reputation was so sweet and very encouraging. Thanks!**

**Amalia Santoro- I also am not fond of our friend Raoul, so no judgments here. Oh and thanks for the support for my one-shot. Very appreciated.**

**BandGeek25- I sincerely try to keep all of our friends in character and I am so happy that you believe I do. Thanks for your support ;)**

**(Again, if you wanted a personal response and didn't receive one, feel free to request one. Just leave a PR at the end of your review. Hope no feelings are hurt, as I adore you all!)**

**For the first time, I will be suggesting music to accompany this chapter. 'Drink Up Me Hearties' by Hanz Zimmer from Pirates of the Carribbean 3 inspired this entire chapter. Feel free to listen as you read!**

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><p>Christine had never realized how vast Erik's new home was. All five stories were his to rule and each one held new discoveries and secrets. He had been missing all day, the distance between them emotionally was tangible and it made her ache for that easiness they had once shared. Deciding to make use of her time alone, she wandered the many rooms of his home. The cavenrous quality was so familiar. She welcomed it. She felt safe in such a place. Ascending the staircase, she heard music emanating from the floor above her.<p>

Curious as ever, she followed the sounds. The music was mesmerizing, drawing her ever closer. There was a rough quality that suggested the music wasn't played live.

The large double doors were opened invitingly. She held her breath. Erik stood motionless, eyes closed with an intense expression. Suddenly he moved, gracefully dancing with an invisible partner across the large ballroom. It was airy and light with windows on every wall. Christine stood in the doorway watching him intuitively. Her eyes followed every gentle but masculine flow of movement. The muscles in his arms and shoulders rippled as he danced. The motion of his body followed the music precisely, yet emotion ruled it. As a professionally trained ballerina, she could appreciate the amazing natural poise he revealed in this hidden talent. She took a step inside the room and the small noise that accompanied the step alerted him to her presence. His dance ended abruptly. His light eyes snapped open and flickered to her. He seemed none too pleased to have been disturbed so rudely.

"I never thought you the type to eavesdrop or spy," he stated coolly, walking to turn off his phonograph. His tone alerted her to his present attitude for her. Cynical, still upset from her lack of decisiveness. He had almost reached the musical device, but before he could reach it she interrupted hastily.

"No, please don't!" Her hand quickly caught his wrist. When his gaze dropped to her restraining hands, she pulled away immediately. "I am sorry. The music is just so lovely I would hate for it to end. Was that one of yours?"

"Of course, one of the few compositions I have ever recorded." His answer was short and detached. His arms were crossed, his expression carefully controlled. He said nothing more, internally debating himself. How easy, how simple it would be to just give in to her bold advances. Every moment in her alluring presence tempted him to frustration's limits. The kisses she had laid against his skin still seemed to smolder. Seeing those perfectly shaped lips only made the aching burn intensify. Curbing the irrational longing, he stared mutely at her. He wondered what kinds of plans she had spinning in that clever mind.

"I didn't know you danced so well." She ventured cautiously. They had been so open, but now he seemed to revert back to his instinctive defensiveness. He didn't appear to desire to be in her company at all. She pushed the discouraging thought away.

"It must be quite a surprise for one who looks as I do to have such a skill." He mused, the bite in his voice unmistakable.

"That is not what I meant." She could not help but defend her motives.

"Of course you didn't," he muttered sarcastically. "My dear, I could see the question in your eyes more clearly than if you had shouted the words. Never mind that. I have had an influence in the choreography of every opera I have ever written, plus any that were performed at the Opera Populaire." In the same maddeningly emotionless voice he continued. "Every lyric, every chord can be transferred through the body, just as it can be with emotion. In each composition I pictured you in my mind's eye, channeling the melody through your body. Every leap of exultation, every bend and flex and turn expressed the mood of the piece. Though you were a singer dominantly, you always far exceeded the other ballerinas in _feeling _music instead of listening." Though the words were complimentary, they lacked any true sentiment behind them. She refused to let him cut her off from him again. No, she wasn't going to allow it.

Christine felt her heart speed as she requested, "Dance with me?"He stared at her proffered hands in unhidden bewilderment.

Erik felt his face register the shock her question had inspired. Hoping she hadn't noticed, he concealed his feelings again. He laughed as frigidly as he could, despite the conflicting emotions. "Really, Christine, are you truly asking to dance with the devil?"He spoke the condemning word to remind _himself_ who he was and why he could not have her. Demons had no right to innocent angels.

"No," she answered decisively. "I am asking to dance with Erik, with you." Please don't push me away again, she thought. Her greatest fear of him now was rejection.

He glared at her. Did she realize who she was tempting? "Fine," he growled. Walking to the phonograph he switched the songs. Returning to her side he began to circle her speculatively, his eyes roaming her lean figure in a most forward manner. Then with a suddenness that stole her breath, he grabbed her waist and intertwined their hands. With a challenge in his green eyes, he began to step, turning slowly, but with a powerful movement driving him. The tempo of the introduction was deceptively slow, random staccatos trilling the slow entrance. Each advance made her brush against him. She felt the hardness of his tall figure against her and her hands grasped his tighter.

A great, rising crescendo registered and then they were flying. Christine reveled in the strength of his arms. They begin to waltz with the dizzying tempo. The tune was so complex, so swift, she felt disconcerted and unprepared. Erik's eyes never left hers. A look of dissatisfaction crossed them. "Stop listening," he commanded. "Feel it." She ceased to try and predict the next steps, only letting the pressure of Erik's hands and the swell and fall of the music guide her. They circled the great ballroom with a natural grace. His form was perfect and her elegant steps mirrored his exactly. He looked above her, trying desperately to avoid the wanting that was plaguing him. This should be, must be a dream, holding her so closely. Dancing, dancing with an angel. Christine could feel the undercurrent of restrained intensity. Though his hands never held her with more than a gentle pressure, she could sense the passion running through him. The music swirled into another vast crecendo, cresting with soaring runs. He spun her out, her long limbs extending gracefully. He couldn't bear even that meager seperation, and pulled her quickly back to him.

Suddenly their eyes met and everything was fire. The passion in their bodies was equaled. The rhythm made their hearts speed, the pounding intoxicating them. Erik's stoic expression unraveled, leaving only desire lighting his features. As his hand held the small of her back, she fell back against his support, one arm and leg lifting beautifully in the motion. He stopped fighting himself, and with a huff of defeat he pulled Christine back tightly to his chest. Her body shaped itself to his perfectly and he forgot everything of himself. All that mattered was him and her, together in this moment. She followed him willingly in every movement, allowing him to have her completely with no reservation or regret to come between. Her dress billowed as he spun her. Only his steady arms kept her grounded. At the exact moment his hands guided her hips down then up again, she leapt into the air. His palm caught her waist, the fingers of his other hand curling around her thigh, supporting her as she flew. Spinning her back into his embrace, the flames licked through their fingers. He was passion and she was desire, performing a dangerous dance in each other's arms.

The music bridged and flowed into an amazing symphony, beautiful and slow. Erik held her tenderly, staring down into her lovely flushed face. He changed their tempo, slower and slower, until they stood gazing at each other, completely transfixed by the other. The music was like a drug that overcame them completely. His hands tightened at her waist drawing her near and she leaned against him. Her head fell back, her eyes seeking his longingly. In one gaze his silent question was answered. They came together in the same instant, their lips tasting hungrily what they had been denied so long. Despite his passion, Erik was tentative, still unaccustomed to such overpowering sensations. He trembled beneath her spell. He held desperately, afraid to ever end such bliss. Her mouth was soft and inviting, welcoming every kiss he bestowed, receiving it with grateful fervor. Her fingertips traced his unmasked cheek, and he gasped at her touch. Trapping that hand to his skin, he turned his face to kiss every detail; trailing his lips softly from her palm to each tiny rounded finger tip. Pulling it behind his neck he sought her mouth again. There was no space between them as he devoured her. She whimpered against his lips when he dared to graze her lower lip with his teeth. He shivered in response to that beguiling sound. Holding her chin in earnest, he kissed her slowly, treasuring the delicious feeling he never thought to experience again. Christine burned under his lips, the passion overcoming every other sensation. She desired him, surrendering as his willing victim.

"Christine," he sighed hoarsely, leaning his forehead against hers. It was as if he needed to convince himself that she was real; that everything was real. Her eyes opened hazily, staring up with adoration flaming from their brown depths.

Christine's chin trembled. Oh Erik, how I love you. She wanted to tell him so badly; it caused her physical pain to remain silent. She wanted to laugh and sob at the same time. She was in love with Erik. There was no fighting or denying it anymore. But she knew such an admission would only break them both apart if she intended to leave him. I can't leave him! Her mind screamed over and over, insisting that this ghost of a man was essential to her. Yet she had to, whether she chose him or not. Either to return to Raoul or to tell him she wouldn't return. Both ways she would have to leave. But Erik needed something, anything to keep his hope alive.

Clearly fighting her anxiety, she pulled the gold and diamond ring off her finger. Taking his large palm, she carefully placed the token of Raoul's possession over her into his hand. "I-I believe you wanted this," she said softly. Erik looked with disbelieving glances from the ring in his hand to her eyes, trying to understand if she realized what she was doing.

"Are you certain? I'm not trying to threaten you into anything. If you make a decision, I want it to be real." He didn't want to reveal how completely frightened he was. If Christine gave in to him, he had everything to lose, again. And this time, oh this time he would be dead before he lost. No, she would be his as she always should have been, forever. She was a necessity to the very act of living. How could he let her go again? If she wanted him, he wouldn't. Nothing could change that. Nothing.

"I'm sure," she responded, touching his unmasked cheek softly. The small caress brought hazy desire back into his eyes. "But, I have to return to Raoul. He has to know. I can't, I won't leave him this way." Just the mention of the Vicomte made his eyes tighten in restrained anger.

"That is the only reason you are returning to him?" His question was skeptical, and she knew why. He was afraid that she was running from him again. Why shouldn't he have so little faith in her? She had given him very little reason to feel otherwise.

"Yes, Erik. That is my sole reason. I have to- to break his heart." He saw the sadness in her eyes. Despite his misgivings toward the boy, he felt truly sorry that Christine would suffer. She would hurt _again_ because of him. Although he wanted to silently accept his victory, he had to press her to full recognition of this perilous situation.

"Christine, before you decide definitely, you need to realize something." He paused to prepare for rebuff, "I will not let you go this time." Each and every word was slow and deliberate, urging her to comprehend. "You have the power to end this now, but you take that step and there is _no_ going back."

"Past the point of no return," she whispered with the ghost of a sorrowful smile. Erik almost winced at the very words. The pain it stirred to life was almost too much to endure with his future so close. The very same future he had lost after that fateful song.

Instead he agreed simply, "yes." Flashes of the past flew before his eyes. The unmasking, her tears, his own half-mad state driven by her cruelty. His hand clutched the white barrier tightly in remembered fear. Could she bear that monstrosity for the rest of her life? Never had she gazed upon it without trepidation and blatant fear. Even when she kissed him the first time, her eyes had held a muted terror, repressed in her determination.

"Erik," her tiny plea barely broke his reverie. His half aware eyes flickered to her, comprehension finally returning to him. She had watched as his hand had darted up to curl into a protective grasp on his mask, knowing what hurtful memories were inciting his frightened paranoia. Those events had all been connected, even all been caused by her. Guilt for his undeserved rejection assailed her. She wished only to replace those memories with better ones. So quietly she requested, "May I see your face?" She heard his immediate rough intake of breath. He only backed out of her embrace slowly, never releasing his grip on the mask.

"Please, Christine, don't ask me that." His voice held the rough edges of anger. The strands of fury were placed purposefully. He hoped pointlessly to disuade her using his volatile temper.

"Why? I _want_ to see it," she pushed. She needed to prove to him that his face didn't matter; that she desired him not despite, but because of it.

"No, no you don't," he disagreed knowingly. "No one desires to look upon this poor excuse of a face. So just drop it and I'll pretend you never had the impudence to ask such a demeaning thing of me." He used the insulting words for their negative power. Please, please just leave it alone, his mind silently begged.

"I desire to see it. If only you will let me. Take off your mask, Erik. Let me see you." Her persuasions were careful, but insistant.

"Very well. If you insist tearing away my mask, do so yourself!" He commanded dropping his hand. "By all means, tear away the piece that hides the hideousness from the world. Tear apart what little hope for a future I had. For surely once you see my disgusting face, you will run back to the handsome devil waiting for you. Go ahead, Christine. Destroy everything again!" The last sentence almost killed him to say. He knew blaming her was wrong, that it pricked her tender conscience to recall her past sins. But he would do anything to preserve his dignity. Yet, he noted with a defensive scowl, his words had not taken their desired effect.

Taking small, measured steps, she closed the meager distance between them. Her every advance made his heart speed and stutter. But with an air of defiance, he stood resolutely still. It was as though he awaited death itself. She stopped only a breath away. Very gently, she raised a creamy hand to that cursed accessory. Though her body shook, it was only in nervousness. She took a breath to steady herself, and carefully lowered the pristine white mask. Erik's eyes avoided hers, not wanting to glimpse the abhorrent emotions surely showing in them.

Without his witnessing, she smiled, her perfect lips tilting sweetly at the corners. His scars were not what most would call beautiful, and surely not attractive. Yet Christine adored those discolored features. Each and every one marked him for the fallen angel he was, for the man she loved. Her fingers trailed a tentative line from his twisted brow down to the corner of his mouth. His gasp made her pull back sharply. "I'm so sorry. Did I hurt you?" she asked fearfully. His eyelids were closed, but she couldn''t see pain in his relaxed features. Confused, she didn't dare move until he spoke.

"No, it doesn't hurt. It feels... extraordinary. No one has ever dared to touch me where my mask lies." After his confession, he said no more. Her hand returned to his scars. He gloried in the exploration of those tiny fingers. Every feather light touch seemed to seep from his malformed skin into the very core of his being. He shivered uncontrollably as each caress thrilled his skin. He opened his eyes to read her expression, utterly astounded at the emotion he found. She seemed happy. No, more than that. Elated. Her beautiful face held no trace of fear or disgust.

"How can you look at me that way?" he asked suddenly, truly baffled, a rare experience for him.

"What way?" she inquired innocently, still tracing his cheek.

"As if I'm- as if," he couldn't even utter the word in regard to himself. So instead he stopped to allow her room to speak.

"Beautiful," she answered in a whisper, "So very beautiful, Erik." And to Christine, he really was. For this was the face of her saving grace, the face of her guardian Angel of Music. When a soul matches your own so perfectly, you could never see anything less than glorious beauty. She stood up on the tips of her toes to lay a gentle kiss against his scars. "You are beautiful, Erik," she whispered against his skin. He shuddered down the length of his spine when her soft lips touch his marred cheek. The feeling was so beyond the simple word pleasure. No, surely something that altering had to be more.

Christine brushed away the slow tears on his cheeks, ignoring the ones making paths down her own. This wasn't about her anymore. It was about Erik and making things right between them. His hands suddenly wove around her waist, pulling her swiftly against him. He held her possessively, trying to be rid of the doubts in his mind. So many argued against the sanity of such a moment. "I want to live," he murmured against the curls on her shoulder. "And it seems I can't without you."

* * *

><p>Raoul gazed warily upon the bounty hunter. Such men were not to be trusted, yet this was his last option. He had given up angrily when no one seemed to find any leads. Police, detectives, hired men all failed. Finally, an old Academy chum had given him the information on the seedy gent before him. Claude Arceneau had helped him track down a number of people owing debts to the government or that ran from their penalty. His friend was now a judge who, when the justice system failed, had his own agenda to find criminals. Most involved using the bounty hunter.<p>

"How much?" the burly man asked. Obviously no words would be wasted with him. Raoul slid a signed check across his desk. He was satisfied to see Claude's eyes bug a little at the enormous amount.

"A bonus is to be paid for each upon their return," he stated matter-of-factly.

"Each? I was told I would be hunting a woman. Have you lost more than one?" He chuckled at his joke, ignoring the Vicomte's annoyed grimace.

"No, you happen to be hired to find a wanted murderer." The cold tone instantly altered the gravity of their exchange. "My fiancé was kidnapped by him."

"And you are certain he hasn't killed her yet?" The question was not unkind, only asked out of curiosity. Yet, Raoul hated to answer, for he knew how bizarre it would sound to describe the freak's attachment to his love.

"Absolutely."

"Who is the killer? Have I heard of him?"

"Perhaps. Does Opera Ghost or Phantom of the Opera ring any bells?" The hunter grew very serious.

"They do indeed. Do you want him brought back alive as well? Or is this a payoff for revenge?"

"No, I definitely want him alive so he may pay for his sins. I'm sure the justice system will love trying his case. Counts of murder and abduction tend to add up." He thought with grim anticipation of handing his rival over to the authorities. Finally, to be rid of him. "Here are photos and sketches of each. They will likely be secluded away from humanity. I know he feels comfortable in the dark or underground." Christine looked innocent and lovely as ever in her photo. Erik, on the other hand seemed menacing and monstrous in his mask.

Claude let out a slow whistle, "No wonder this freak abducted her and you're going to such trouble. I'd go after her too."

Raoul smiled darkly. Christine would be his again, if he had to tear France apart, city by city, to find her. Her ghost had the great misfortune of still being alive. Once he had her safely with him, he intended to remedy that.

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><p><strong>Thanks for reading! Now please review! I worked hard on this one for you!<strong>

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	13. Demons, Darkness, Desire

_**I Feel truly guilty for not posting sooner. My excuse is that I was the lead in my school's production of My Fair Lady. I played Eliza Doolittle. It was very rewarding but captured a great deal of my writing time. For this reason I am not typing acknowledgments now. I shall hopefully add them later. I want to get this chapter out quickly as penance for my tardiness.**_

_**Thank you so much to all those who reviewed. They were so fantastic and very sweet. So sorry you weren't rewarded with a quick update as you should have been. Major love to those who still review this chapter despite the late date.**_

_**Hope I will be forgiven. Enjoy!**_

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><p>When Christine had thought of accepting all of Erik, she never dreamed that he intended to test her. Yet her recent days had been filled to the brim with learning of him. It had seemed easy to accept most admissions. But as the time wore on, darker, more passionate and even sinister sides of him were revealed.<p>

Her first glimpse was sitting curled against him on the couch. The blazing hearth created security that soon vanished in relived horrors.

"My mother wasn't a kind woman. No, she possessed an incurable vanity and lust for power that to this day I shudder to recall. She looked lovely, beauty at its essence. Her charming features captured my father's attention, and thus she rose through the ranks of society from an Irish immigrant's daughter to a Lady. She didn't deserve him. My father loved her to distraction, but his love blinded him to her true nature."

Christine pondered silently that perhaps Erik learned to love passionately from this fabled man. He certainly demonstrated a greater capacity for emotion than any other human she knew. He continued determinedly, frightened of Christine's opinions, yet eager to know them.

"Their life was prosperous and simple until I entered the world, their first, and to my knowledge, only child. Upon first sight that woman rejected me. She ordered the nurse to take me away from her. I only know because the nurse became my primary caregiver. My very earliest memories are of my parents fights. Father always tried to protect me, to keep my mother from 'ruining me' as it were. But she wouldn't be deterred. I lived for years in a suite of rooms only my parents and nurse were allowed to enter. Even while I was hidden away so completely, she forced me to leave my mask on. She believed I wasn't so hideous and ugly with my scars out of view. But she hated me for them, as if nature's mistake had been my doing. I embodied everything she disliked." He paused again, losing himself in a past he rarely indulged to remember.

"When my father died, life became unendurable. She found no cause to act even tolerant of me anymore. She beat me with no provocation and cared not what physical and psychological damage she inflicted. Even my nurse couldn't undo some nights. Though bless her soul, she tried. Eventually even my nurse was forbidden to see me. Weeks of isolation and torment drove me mad. I have no pity for those who torture children. The only solace I found was in the grand piano my father had put in my rooms. With what rudimentary instruction I had, I discovered beauty. I lost myself in music. But mother grew tired of the noise and my final refuge was destroyed. On that last outrage, I fled." Christine curled her fingers more tightly in his own, grateful when the tension left his intense body. He sighed contentedly.

"How old were you?" She couldn't help but pry. Erik's tale had already ripped her heart apart, knowing even from birth he had suffered.

"I never celebrated birthdays, but nine years seems about right."

"But you were only a child!" she exclaimed sadly.

"No, Christine. I had learned to depend on myself long before even that time. I doubt there was ever a period in my life I could call 'childhood'. Endless pain and reality had pushed me to a mindset no one could ever compare with that of a child."

"But, where did you go?"

"I lived on the streets for a time. I stayed out of the public eye, stealing and scavenging. My white mask marked me for an evil creature though. And my peace didn't last.

"Gypsies passing through my town attracted my inquisitive nature. I didn't know their superstitious ways would alter my course. The leader caught me on the first night. When he tore off my white mask, he screamed and yelled mysterious profanity, beckoning to the others. I cringed away from their foreign customs, but could find no escaping his hold. By the next day they had made my existence into a theme attraction.

"The Devil's Child, they called me. Such a title held no surprise for me, having been raised as I had. Mother had pronounced me a demon often enough. What did shock me was the cruelty of those people. I thought being outcasts would bridge a sort of connection between them and I. How naïve, how foolish I must have been to think so. The optimism in me died quickly enough.

"My mask never hid my shame. Only a dirty old sack served to cover the monstrosity of my face. But when their show commenced the barrier had to come off. If I didn't comply immediately I was whipped into submission." His eyes squinted minutely, wincing as though the lash were stinging still.

"Every day brought new horrific screams and taunting laughter that I could never escape. Caged, what an awful thing for human or beast to endure. I knew hatred in its most primitive and basic embodiment. I hated those people, my masters, my tormentors, and the bystanders who did nothing. They watched as a child was abused and ridiculed and silently denied any help.

"In the darkness of night I mourned as my father had taught me: through music. I began to sing, missing freedom and the natural rights of life and prosperity I had been denied. I suppose that was a mistake as well. When my pen keeper heard, he wanted to use my voice against me. He tried to force me into performing for the monsters that came into hell for a look at a lost child. I refused, angrily. His beatings became more violent as my resolve never shook. I wished nothing more than for him to go ahead and kill me.

"When Antoinette came to visit, I was barely holding on to any ounce of humanity I had left. I had become animalistic from the natural instinct to survive despite my suicidal intentions. I heard the little group of ballerinas with their high pitched squeals of fear. I denied them and the disgusting men my attention. But she caught my notice only from her lack of expected response. As I was whipped repeatedly, I saw her compassion. I was so astounded that the pain faded in my fascination. I'll never forget her hands clutching so restrainedly at the bars as if she could break them to pieces, how her eyes flashed in silent outrage and horror.

"That look gave me hope. A dark hope perhaps, but the strength to end my misery came as its accomplice. The greedy man never expected me to rebel in such a way. I had been the submissive victim, much to my shame. He had no plausible reason for fear. In his distraction with filthy money, he didn't even acknowledge my presence. He never had the time to react before the rope had done its work. Perhaps I should have felt remorse or regret, but if I am honest I felt neither. Only a profound wave of relief accompanied his demise. Maybe I didn't pity him because he didn't seem human anymore. No, he was a spiteful, malicious creature only."

Christine couldn't suppress the grimace at his chosen words. Her expression wasn't lost on him, but he knew it was for the best.

"I could see Madame Giry's fear, yet she aided me in spite of it."

"And then she took you to the opera?"

"Yes, she hid me away in the catacombs. Despite her young age, she was the closest thing to a mother I ever had. For the next seven years I secretly studied the art of theatre and music. Unwittingly I earned my title of Opera Ghost long before I accepted the role." A fond smile relaxed his face, remembering older moments in time.

"Enough sheet music and instruments disappeared for their claims to be valid. They were always returned mysteriously. Even at my tender age, I was still very cautious.

"I adapted quickly, learning how to move silently and hide in the unlikeliest places. But after a few years of solitude I wanted to explore the world and attempt to find my way in it.

"I traveled Europe and select parts of Asia, gaining knowledge and skills that would aid in my future. In Italy I met an old architect, so nearsighted I was surprised he could see at all. His eyes could no longer see blueprints and his hands shook too greatly to sketch, so I was his savior. He taught me his trade and I supported him. Building his plans and giving him more than his share.

"But I was happy to give him anything because he liked me, was genuinely fond of me. When he died two years later, he left me his entire estate.

"Persia was my next destination and the accursed place that darkened my future. I traveled there to study their architecture. The palace of a great Shah in particular entranced me. But the ruler within was wary and mistrustful and ordered me before him. Needless to say my mask seemed suspicious.

"When he first glimpsed my scars, he trembled and begged forgiveness. Again I was cast a demon. But for once the word protected me. He feared my power and pleaded that I stay with him so he could earn my pardon.

"Knowing no better, I accepted his proposition. For a time I thrived in the court of the Shah. He granted anything I wanted and thus I learned many new talents. Magic, ventriloquism, and acrobatics all enthralled me. Persians were avid sponsors of almost every sort of artistic domain and the Shah gathered masters from across the globe to entertain him. I became a master in composing music for him and performed at my leisure to please him.

"It was when I constructed a new wing of the palace that my path altered. He ordered many secret escapes and passageways, all harmless of course. It was my knack for design that ruined everything. He had me build a very special room, for amusement, he had said. A maze of mirrors meant to entertain and slightly thrill the occupant. But over time these chambers morphed into more sinister and terrifying places. Only when it was too late did I realize I had created torture chambers.

"My creations preyed on human weakness and killed you psychologically more quickly than they did physically. I remember the last one was filled with mirrors with one metal tree positioned to where it reflected into a cold, lifeless forest. The room was connected to furnaces that heated the metal until the victim felt as though they were being cooked alive. Days and days they burned with no water, and that is when the extra features would break them. The sound of rain and thunder would crash and bounce off of the walls promising relief. The illusion tore their minds apart into insanity, for water never came.

"The final garish feature was a Punjab lasso hanging from the tree branches. Very rarely did dehydration take its toll before victims killed themselves. The Shah loved his beastly games and I hated him for his influence. He made me lust for blood as insatiably as he did. Human lives lost their significance and I truly became a demon.

"The cure for my darkness came in an unexpected form. A young man, not much younger than I, was sentenced to the chamber. He couldn't have been more than fifteen. For days he resisted the rope, his strength was unshakable. I saw in his obstinacy the same stubborn boy who wouldn't sing no matter how many lashes tried to force his submission. I was killing myself.

"On the fifth day I ordered the Shah to release him, because I couldn't stand the sight of his suffering any longer. He refused me. The Shah had turned against me and I saw in him the worst of man. Greed, violence, and a horrifying lack of compassion. Since he showed no mercy, I wasn't compelled to give him any. My last victim before I left that dark place was the ruler himself. I threw his plump body in and barred his escape. The guards never saw me leave. I had designed the room and my own secret exits were known by no one but me.

"Later I would feel the waves of guilt for every soul who lost their life in those evil chambers. I am not the heartless ghost most think I am. I feel regret as potently or maybe even more so than others. What haunts me still is the lack of justification. None of them had to die; they had committed no heinous sins worthy of such inhumane punishment. The Shah had offered up many excuses, but I knew lies when I heard them. Such wasteful wickedness. For years after I truly hated myself. But I would lose my sanity time and again, succumbing to the darkness and stealing another life."

"But that isn't who you are now, Erik," Christine whispered sincerely. Her heart ached for him and the battle he constantly fought. Such wasteful wickedness, how adamantly she agreed. Erik suffered so much for no purpose.

"Isn't it? I almost murdered the Vicomte a few short months ago, that desire hasn't dimmed," he confessed grimly. "Why aren't you afraid?" he suddenly demanded. "I keep searching for it, yet I haven't glimpsed the smallest trace. I just admitted to lusting for your fiancée's blood. How can you hear that without fear?"

"Because I have faith that you will not kill him. I know that I have no reason to fear you. You won't hurt me or anyone else." The miracle of her statement was her absolute belief in the truth of it.

"But how are you so certain? I've crossed the line to madness once, it could always happen again."

Her lips tilted into a gentle half smile. "I won't allow it."

Erik silently marveled at this new strength in his love. The fragile girl he once protected had grown into a brave young woman ready to fight devils and darkness for what she wanted. He admired her faith in him despite being unable to understand it. He could only pray he wouldn't disappoint her.

* * *

><p>A few days later another suppressed answer was finally opened.<p>

"Why did you kill Joseph, Erik? He didn't do anything deserving of death." She tried to ask without criticism or judgment and only understanding.

"Anything? That unintelligent, poor excuse of a man only coveted every woman in that Opera House and constantly spread fear of my existence. The latter only proves his lack of intellect."

"That warrants death then?" Christine held his gaze with hers, knowing there to be more behind the crime than he desired to let on.

He sighed in admission. "Of course it doesn't"

"Then why-,"

"Why," he interrupted. "Would it be surprising if I said you were the answer? You generally influence every action I take."

"Me?" she questioned in confusion. "I never asked for that."

"Not literally, you were inadvertently the cause of his demise. First I had requested your position in the lead role from my pawn managers who had the impudence to ignore me. Then that fool boy stole my rightful place in box 5 and watched you with ravenous eyes. I hated him and his easy lust for you. So great was my rage that when the idiot Buquet attempted to interfere, my sanity was lost to the waves of anger and grief. Grief that I could never look upon you with such eyes, that I would never deserve to glimpse, much less touch the perfection of your skin. Angry that he believed it his right to do so, as if anyone deserves such a blessing!" The furious set of his brow changed swiftly into a melancholy remorse.

"But… when I saw the look of your face, I regretted it instantly. I had never seen you so frightened, so lost. It seemed as though you had been broken."

"I was," she admitted softly. "My Angel had turned out to be an Opera Ghost who killed without hesitation, or so it had seemed. But, I knew less remorse and more shame than I dared to admit."

"Shame? But what on earth could you have been ashamed of?" His green stare penetrated into her bared heart searchingly.

"I felt less sympathy for your victim than I did loss for you."

"You hadn't lost me though." His statement sounded a question. Her words made no sense.

"But I couldn't want you anymore. Loving angels and even men can be smiled upon; but no one must want a murderer. I feared that my heart sinned in mourning you, but I could not prevent it."

Erik's mind flashed with a scene long past of snow and coldness that went beyond the winter night. But in that deep sadness there had been warmth, a blinding ray of hope that he had long since forgotten. At the time its presence had been abolished by the betrayal and pain that had swiftly followed.

A lovely echo sounded in his mind, sung by the only voice he truly ever heard.

"_But his voice filled my spirit  
>with a strange, sweet sound.<br>In that night there was music in my mind.  
>And through music my soul began to soar!<br>And I heard as I'd never heard before."_

His breath stopped just as it had when he heard her sing his music that long ago night. He had inspired her soul. _He_ had! He remembered how regretful she had sounded. "You didn't want to lose me." He repeated her earlier sentiment with convicted awe. "Dear God," he exclaimed in a whisper. How could he have missed something so vital? Had his jealousy overcome him so completely? "Is that why you ran into the arms of your Vicomte, because you thought it was a sin to come to me?"

"Yes, I asked him to save me from darkness I couldn't understand. To protect me from what I wanted most. What a foolish child I was!"

"No, you couldn't have known any different. Don't you dare blame yourself for misunderstanding me. You are one of the only people who have ever even tried to make sense of me. The only one who succeeded."

She laughed softly. "How do you figure that? I still feel as if you are a mystery. There is so much I do not know."

He smirked with an air of mischief. "All you have to do is ask."

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><p>Erik had been guarding his emotions, curbing an ever present desire to touch and be touched by Christine. Her lips and hands healed more than he ever believed possible. But since their dance, he used extreme caution physically, desperately holding to fickle control that waned away a little more every hour.<p>

Now he felt so consumed, he could barely read the notes on the sheet music before him. His ever distracting Christine lounged on the rich burgundy velvet couch in her wrapper. Her lids were closed, drinking in the sound of each pitch as it rang into existence. He eyed the curve of her pink tinged lips longingly. _Sweetest sin take me_, he thought.

"Christine?" he murmured. The husky timbre of his voice made her eyes flicker open curiously.

"Yes?"

"Tell me, what do you know of desire?" He watched her brown eyes widen, her pupils dilate merely at the suggestion. But behind the clouded intrigue, he saw her lingering fears. Her innocence only made his impatience swell. So sweet, and all his to be devoured. But, he couldn't quite yet, only a taste to tide him over.

"I- I'm not sure what you mean," she stammered nervously, her cheeks stained in a deep blush. He suppressed a chuckle at her anxiety, only allowing himself a roguish grin in response.

"Well then I shall have to teach you." His murmured reply made her expression change to one of insatiable wonder.

"What-how do you intend to teach me?" her question trembled with her nervousness.

"How indeed?" he questioned in return with a confidence that suggested more than his words. His hands rested on the ivory keys of the piano, pausing as he quickly pursued his newfound idea.

Rising lightly, he circled the room with rapid steps, blowing out candles until one solitary point of illumination remained, throwing light from a table beside the piano. He then reassumed his position on the bench and gazed at his dark haired beauty with shadowed eyes.

"Come here," he beckoned gently. She rose with a slight hesitation, but never a trace of resisting his invitation. Her silent steps brought her to the bow of the piano where she rested her hands. The smooth wood offered support and stability that seemed to have fled her. She peered into his eyes, seeking an answer to an unnamed, unaskable question.

Her matched stare started his playing again. But this time the melody was not soft and flowing with gentility. The chords were demanding yet smooth and the most sensual tune she had ever heard. Her ears were filled with the insistent erotic notes, making her long for understanding of such passion, such fervency.

His green eyes watched her long, slender frame quiver with need. The action changed his ache into a frenzy of untamable lust that he battled to keep control over. "What do you want, Christine?" he asked in a growl that was low and hushed to disguise his own pulsing hunger. "What do you desire?"

The forbidden word spoken from his angelic chords made her shiver. But she attempted to be brave, managing to sigh, "You."

The swift legato pitches entwined in and out, swirling with ecstasy that Erik knew she would hear, knew she would comprehend. "What of me? You may do as you will with me. Don't be afraid. Show me your feelings, Christine."

Her shaking legs barely carried her across the thick carpets to stand behind him. She paused with her innocent uncertainty lingering in her mind. The sheer unknown quality of her own emotions had her frightened. His candlelit form held a temptation she longed to succumb to, but didn't know how.

"Don't be afraid," he breathed again. He wanted her to have control, for he knew his grasp was so loose he would relinquish it much too soon. Sensing her indecision he entreated softly, "Please."

In what felt a necessary action, her hand found his mask and when he made no protest, she pulled it away gently. His fingers kept up their incessant thrumming on the keys, giving a heartbeat to the desire between them.

Those delicate white fingers explored the lines and textures of his face, caressing both cheeks with light strokes. The sweet gestures made the sensitive skin tingle with sensation. But when she pressed her lips delicately to the side of his neck, all logical thought began to waver, replaced by a necessity to have those soft lips captive between his, to feel them roam his body. The one kiss made his musician's hands tense with restraint, a growl escaping his lips before he could stop it. His response made her timid, afraid of the primitive wanting that left her weak.

She slid her palms onto his broad shoulders, the hard muscles rippling beneath his white shirt intriguing her and threatening her with his sheer masculine power.

"I need you-," she never finished her request. The music ceased abruptly as he turned to bracket her legs with his knees. He caught her wrists in his palms, pulling them around his neck before claiming her mouth with his in a searing kiss. But he longed to set her fears at ease and kissed her tenderly, treasuring her with the light caress. When he felt her own passion rising, he pulled her closer.

"Feel, don't think." With that command the final candle was put out, leaving her in darkness.

"Erik?" Suddenly the bow of her wrapper was untied, the sleeves sliding off and down to the floor. Fingers traced her exposed shoulder, lips gently sliding to follow the leisurely path. His kisses were slow and consuming. She gasped; truly no thoughts were invading this all enveloping surrender.

She was such a vision in her white gown, practically glowing to him in the darkness. Such a goddess she was, sharing her glory with an unworthy mortal. Erik took one creamy hand, tracing the softness of her flesh with his fingers, thrilling in her sweet texture. She sighed out her pleasure causing him to react unexpectedly.

He circled her tiny waist within his hands. He stood and pressed her back into the wall. His kisses became urgent and possessive, trailing from the curve of her elegant neck to crush her lips in a passionate embrace. She shivered and cried out, causing all sensibility to abandon Erik completely.

"This need is torture, Christine." She pushed herself more firmly into him, delighting in his solid arms constricting ever so slightly. She was filled with wanting. For what, she didn't know.

"Take me," she pleaded with a voice laced in uncomprehending ache. Her hands ran through his silky hair, holding him against her.

Erik actions stilled, barely grasping to sense and logic. But falling back into reality, eventually he found them. Looking regretfully into her flushed face he breathed, "Not yet, Ange."

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><p><strong><em>Hope this chapter wasn't disjointed from the rest of the tale. I may edit it more later. Please review! It is a cliff hanger after all. <em>**

**_Thank you for your patience in following my story._**

**_~bo-leigh bella_**


	14. Shatter

Acknowledgments for Dancing with the Devil: Seraphina Luna, thegoodfriday, xo-theteddybear-xo, Melcangel, katarina97, Knowledge is a powerful tool, Venture Wood-angelofmusic75, Laania, mayalewis16, Starcrier, Amalia Santoro, AmberTyphosisShittyDick, Ophelia V. Santori, BandGeek25, Elysse Fray 111, AnimationLuvrs2, Alice Kettle, Madam Oakheart a Shisou Kamen, Zebrakatten, Why Fireflies Flash, Sleepest-Angel , WolfieBurnsTheNight, darkgemwildcat, owlthewhitedragon, Alana Fox, and AngelBreeze

I am sorry for not recognizing ya'lls amazing reviews sooner. I really appreciate all of them and I'm sorry for all the delays recently.

Acknowledgments to those who had the patience to stay with me until Demons, Darkness, and Desire: Alice Kettle, PhantomFan01, Alana Fox, BandGeek25, xo-theteddybear-xo, Madam Oakheart a Shisou Kamen, darkgemwildcat , norisclub, Markirs, Dramionie5, and RedStalkingDeath

Thank you for every single kind word of praise. I love them all.

Venture Wood-angelofmusic75- I have read Leroux and recently wrote a one-shot more based on the book than the musical called I Will Wait. It is told in 1st person POV from Erik's perspective. Perhaps you will like it.

Amalia Santoro-Thank you for supporting my romance scenes. I don't like to go into too much detail.

Emsnoo-Thank you for saying my story is one of the best and all your support for this chapter.

Desistam21- Thank you for your kind compliments and for following my story.

WolfieBurnsTheNight- Thank you and he called her ange because that is French for angel, an endearment they both use.

Wrena/ Lauren- Thank you so much for your continued support and encouragement. Your reviews helped me finish the chapter and I am indebted to you. I hope it is pleasing enough to warrant your persistence.

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><p>Erik awoke to a new and thrilling sensation of warmth. Christine's head lay on his chest, her beautiful brown tresses tumbling over his shoulders. His expression softened.<p>

The night before he had carried his tempting angel to bed but she had refused to let him leave her. Happily bending to her whims, he had laid awake with her held close. Her tiny hand had sought his, and this time he didn't pull away, but grasped at her touch. Even when she had drifted away into dreams he didn't sleep. He desired to savor the sound of her gentle breaths and memorize the tempo of her pulse thrumming against his skin. The first night she had stayed, his stubbornness hadn't allowed him to appreciate the small blessings of sharing a night with her.

Even now he dared not wake her lest he spoil the serenity of her slumbering features. Softly he traced her fine porcelain face. He grazed her brow with a soft caress, letting his fingers lead a path round her softly closed lids, skimming across her curved cheeks, and finally brushing gently across her perfectly shaped lips. How could a deformed monster ever gain such a miracle? He didn't know but dared not question the only good thing that had ever come out of his life.

He watched amused as her eyelids fluttered open and she looked up to find him leaned over her. Her reaction startled him, but he couldn't immediately figure why. When she laughed and sat up to hug her arms about him, he knew. No one had ever been pleased to greet him without his mask. Christine had always had the chance to remove it herself, to prepare her for his face's scars. But she had awakened to its peculiarities as if she was pleased to be met with such a sight. She acted as though she believed her own words, that he was beautiful.

If Christine could truly live with his face, Erik would do everything in his power to ensure their lives would never be separated again.

She had forgiven his past and now promised a future. He had never felt such hope. Their relationship had always been so fragile, just waiting for the right moment to shatter back into pieces. Now she had conquered fear and he had banished guilt. Together they were finally whole, the broken fragments rejoining into a picture more complete than the original.

Holding her tightly in his arms he made a silent oath to never lose her again, to be without her now would be to die. And he finally had a life worth living.

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><p>"I know nothing, Monsieur," the shaking youth insisted for what seemed the hundredth time to him. "My master tells me nothing. We talk only through letters." The boy didn't know who he should fear more, the huge inquisitive man interrogating him or his threatening, elusive master.<p>

"Would you mind showing me these letters?" Claude attempted to ask without demand. The boy, Alton, nodded and ran into his home to fetch them. The child was taking forever to be forthcoming with answers. But, he was the best lead the bounty hunter had. All of the clues fit together perfectly. The lack of appearance face to face, no voice to recognize, dwelling in a secluded home. He felt sure that the Phantom hadn't fled France, not if he was wounded as Raoul had indicated. If Claude was lucky, maybe the criminal had died and he was only chasing a runaway bride with cold feet. But with the history, he highly suspected not. He never before had been challenged with such a needlessly complex venture. Obviously the woman was caught between two powerful men, both dangerous in their desperation to have her. He believed them all to be idiots. Never would he make such a fool of himself over another person. Especially some frivolous woman, the sex as a whole disgusted him.

He was pulled back to his current task when he heard the door click. He eyed the child speculatively and held out his hand for the notes. The scrawl was very distinct, calligraphy almost with its elegant complexity. Such writing would be hard to mistake.

"Has your master said anything about a woman recently?" He pinned Alton with his stare, daring him to try to lie.

He shuffled his feet and said not a word, hoping he could find an escape from what felt like treachery. His master had been very clear on the matter of secrecy.

Claude tried another tactic, "Please tell me. I'm just looking for a girl whose family is very worried about her. You would help her if you knew something." The falsehood was close enough to the actual story.

Alton's eyes widened at the heroic sound of aiding the lost damsel. "Well…he did speak of a niece coming to visit him a couple of days ago. He had me fetch some clothes and things for her."

"Oh thank you so much young man, that is valuable news indeed." He patted the lad on the back importantly. After a quick goodbye, he left to meet with the Vicomte.

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><p>"Do you have anything this man wrote? A sample perhaps?" He sat across from Raoul once again, sharing all his knowledge. The Vicomte wasn't convinced.<p>

"Were supposed to go on the word of a child?" he demanded again. "He could be lying for heaven's sake." He pointed out, annoyance very plain in his tone.

"You didn't answer my question." Neither man enjoyed the presence of the other.

Exasperated, Raoul threw up his hands, "Why on earth would I have his…?" he paused mid-question, a sudden realization hitting him. "Wait here a moment," he bid rising and exiting the office.

For the precious seconds he was alone, Claude relaxed his rigid posture and breathed out profanity against his intolerable employer. He had never been fond of the pampered royals and aristocrats. If it weren't for the exponential pay, he never would have accepted.

Rapid tread brought Raoul back, holding in his hand some cluttered page.

"What is that? I've never seen a letter like that."

Music you imbecile, he thought. "Music," he answered instead.

"Well give it here." He pulled the two documents close, eyes flickering between specific words and letters. "Seems we have found our man at last, De Chagny."

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><p>Christine sighed sadly as she thought of broaching an uncomfortable, but necessary, topic with Erik. Their short time together had been the most wonderful time of her life. She hated to end it, especially on a bad note. "Erik?"<p>

"Hmm?" he sat hunched over some elaborate sketch. No matter her pleadings, he refused to show it to her. A 'surprise' he had repeated with barely concealed excitement.

She inhaled deeply before venturing, "I have to return to Raoul. I have to break my engagement before anything more happens between us." She saw his back go rigid and his muscles pull taut. "Please don't be angry. I will come back to you I promise."

Anger wasn't the emotion he battled, but a fear that constantly sat in his mind that he would lose her. Fate always seemed to be striving to pry them apart. Well hang destiny and fate! Erik would keep her in spite of them. "It isn't your intentions I am wary of, dearest. Your Vicomte will likely resist freeing you, especially if he has concluded where you are at present. I am loathe to give him any opportunity to steal you away." He grinned suddenly with a humor found more commonly than either ever expected. "I am the only man allowed to do that."

"But, I must be able to tell him goodbye. I cannot just disappear with him always wondering. He has to know that this future is my choice. No threats or delusions sway my judgment." Her brown eyes widened in silent entreaty, "Please?"

He huffed in defeat. Saying no to Christine wasn't easy for him, it never had been. "Very well, but I hope you won't mind a few precautions, allowing me to see you safely there and such. It would make the ordeal less stressful."

"Of course," she agreed eagerly, feeling safer in his plans. Suddenly she was airborne, cradled in his possessive arms.

"Only please don't leave me yet. I don't think I can bear a moment without you." Every word was earnest. He hadn't felt like he could breathe for months. He didn't look forward to the bleak time she would be away. "Give me until tomorrow evening, and then I shall escort you to his estate personally."

Christine wasn't overly anxious to part with him either and happily agreed. Little did she know of Erik's plans.

Claude prepared for his final assignment. Now that he knew the fugitive's location, his task became very simple. The main priority was the young woman, he had to obtain her safely first. Then he would capture the ghost and collect his payment. Easy in thought, though put in practice it could easily be more difficult than he suspected.

Christine emerged from the bath chamber wearing her golden gown. It glowed luminescent in the candlelight from the chandeliers. She wanted to make her last hours with Erik memorable.

He stood transfixed by her radiance. He was certain he had never seen anything so lovely. With great effort, he managed to speak articulately. "You look heavenly."

She blushed most becomingly, smiling her pleasure.

"Will you join me?" he questioned, offering his arm.

Upon entering the dining room she exclaimed, "Oh, Erik how wonderful." The carved table was bedecked with luscious courses, all of her favorites and many that held the appeal of being unknown.

"I'm glad you appreciate it."

Their meal was passed in comfortable ease, smiles and laughter after a seemingly endless prelude of pain. At the end he confided, "I have a gift for you."

She raised her brows expectantly. In response he left the room to return with his enigmatic sketch. "I finished it for you," he whispered softly, spreading the sheet before her.

In his straight, precise strokes the most beautiful picture had been created. A house. A grand structure made of stone and wood and the most perfect home she had ever seen. It had all the mysterious appeal and artistic flair of Erik joined gracefully with her gentle simplicity and warmth. She had no words to reply in gratitude, so taken with the possibility of their life together. Eventually she managed to ask, "Is this for us?"

"Yes, our future estate. Where we will live out the remainder of our lives in all the grandeur and comfort you deserve. We can change the design if you aren't completely pleased. Of course-"

"Oh, Erik I wouldn't change it for anything. It's perfect." He smiled under her praise, then his expression turned serious. Very deliberately he slid to one knee at her feet. Her breathing stopped. He gently clasped her small white hands in his.

"I am all too aware that I have no right to ever claim one as innocent and altogether good as you are. But if you give me the chance, I will spend the rest of my life attempting to merit the blessing of having you in it. I will love you and respect you and understand you as no other on this earth ever could. I will make my heart's desire to bring you happiness. Christine Roselle Daae, will you do me the eternal honor of becoming my wife?" From his coat pocket he drew out a tiny velvet box. Once opened, it revealed a stunning and perfect white pearl, surrounded by a number of small black diamonds set in beautiful pale gold. The dark and light complimented each other wondrously, as Erik and Christine. His green blue eyes watched her fearfully. He would never deserve her, but that wouldn't stop him. He had never desired or loved anything more in all of his life.

"Yes," she barely murmured, then more triumphantly. "Yes, Erik. I will marry you!" She threw herself into his outstretched arms, kissing every part she could reach. He seemed frozen beneath her, moving nary a muscle.

"Erik?"

He laughed, his whole frame quivering with the delightful sound. "Yes," he whispered in disbelief. "You said yes!" he rejoiced. "You're mine."

"Forever," she vowed. With that seal he slipped the ring onto her finger. He wrapped his arms around her waist, for the first time holding her as _his_ fiancée.

His unmasked face lit up in excitement as he wove their future in his husky timbre. "When you return, we shall have a glorious wedding. We'll honeymoon all over Europe while our house is built. Then, my love, your voice will soar again and I will be the luckiest man alive to call you mine. No more running, no more hiding." With Christine by his side he would face the world. There would be no shame if she was his bride.

Overcome with the emotional sensation of the moment, she allowed herself to admit, "I love you."

Erik stiffened as though she had struck him. "What did you just say?" he barely managed to inquire his eyes searching her face intently.

"I love you, Erik." Never before in their entwined lives had she ever possessed the courage to admit such a miracle. But Erik's love had given her strength. His arms tightened as though afraid her words would escape him if she left.

"Tell me, how do you expect me to let you go now?" She saw the urgency in his eyes and knew his question wasn't hypothetical in the least. So she stood on her toes to kiss his lips gently.

"With the assurance that I will return," she replied fervently. She would face Raoul if only to begin her life with Erik.

An hour later, Christine pulled the hood of Erik's cloak over her curls and faced him hopefully. Lord willing she would be back in his arms before nightfall.

"I will be right behind you until I see you safely there," he assured her worriedly. He pulled her safely into his embrace, kissing her lips in gentle farewell. "I shall see you soon, my dear."

"Goodbye for now, love." He smiled slightly at how easily the endearment came to her lips. Before he could manage to change his mind, she opened his concealed entrance and set off down the street. He watched her disappear behind the door before replacing his mask.

Erik tried to wrestle his anxious thoughts into submission before following. He had the terrible suspicion that this battle with the Vicomte wouldn't end well. But with his ring claiming her, there was little Raoul could do. He smiled. Perhaps he was overreacting, maybe fate was being kind at last.

His happiness was short lived.

"Erik!" The hideously familiar scream made his blood chill. His body flew into motion, pursuing the sound. Dear Lord had he ever heard Christine sound so frightened? He threw open the door, rushing into the only scene he had ever been afraid of.

An unknown ruffian held Christine savagely by her lovely curls, a pistol held threateningly beneath her chin. Erik's eyes stared daggers at the man who dared to touch her so viciously. Her brown eyes were wide and fearful. "Please monsieur, don't hurt him," she pleaded shakily.

"Quiet!" The stranger barked.

Erik fingered the knife in his belt beneath his cape. "What is it you want?" he demanded.

The man laughed darkly, "It isn't about what I want. Everything is under orders from my client. She comes with me to him, and I take you into custody of the law as the fugitive you are. If you come quietly I'll see this lady safely there. If not…," he trailed off suggestively, "accidents may happen."

Erik hid his desperation well, matching the bounty hunters cold stare. "Who is this man you are to bring her to? My friend the Vicomte?" he suggested casually.

"Yes, precisely the man." Christine struggled angrily against his grip. She couldn't allow this to happen. If Erik faced a trial, they would… She fought harder against the restraining hand, clawing with her nails. The man's face grew irritated. Losing patience, he struck her hard across the cheek with the gun so that her face jerked sharply to the side.

Christine's skin stung angrily, she bit back her cry refusing to give such satisfaction to her assailant. One look at Erik and she knew this wouldn't end well. His eyes were cold and unfeeling. She no longer stood before her beloved angel; she recognized the expression of the Opera Ghost easily.

"Touch her again," he warned darkly, "and your life is forfeit."

"Erik, stop please!" she asked desperately. "You have to get away."

"I will not let him abduct you like this," his spit through clenched teeth. "You're mine!"

Claude interrupted, tired of their lover's feud. He looked pointedly at Erik, masking his terror at the fury burning in those green eyes. This legend's ability to kill was notorious. "You, Monsieur Phantom are in absolutely no position to threaten me. Mademoiselle Daae's welfare depends solely on your willing cooperation." He moved his pistol to her temple, his finger lingering on the trigger, a silent promise.

But before he could order his opponent further, his hand was pinned to the wall behind him, Erik's knife holding his sleeve above his shoulder. He heard the clang of metal as his gun fell to the street.

Christine slipped easily from his other hand, pushing his stocky body roughly away from her. Erik pulled her swiftly behind his body. "Go Christine," he bid seriously. She backed away but refused to abandon Erik.

He approached the immobile slightly shaken man and picked his pistol up off the ground. Examining it carelessly, he asked in an absolutely terrifying voice, "Do you have any valid reason why I shouldn't kill you for attempting to kidnap my future wife?" The sinister growl suggested a complete lack of interest whether the man perished or lived.

"Because I have succeeded." The man's answer only just registered when Erik heard the rapid footfalls. Before he could react his hands were pulled roughly behind his back and the finality of clicking handcuffs reached his ears. Claude smiled diabolically, pulling the knife out of his sleeve. He was livid at being embarrassed in front of the police force he had brought along. Obviously this criminal was a force to be reckoned with.

Already his captive was struggling against his bonds; he had taken one guard out with a solid hit from his skull. The other continued to fight for control. Claude walked towards him leisurely and before others could warn against it, he slammed his fist into Erik's skull, dropping him to his knees.

"No!" the high-pitched scream made all the men turn as Christine lost her grip on control. Erik was invincible, no man could best him. This couldn't be happening; she couldn't be losing her future, not when it was just beginning. She looked up at the man holding her back, "Please, just let us go. I'll go to Raoul on my own, I was on my way. Please!"

The man looked down regretfully, the beauty tugged at his heart. But he had orders to follow, "I'm sorry miss." He pulled her into the carriage and shut the door on her distressed brown eyes. Christine continued to shriek, to scream Erik's name until the carriage pulled away, her voice fading as it rolled down the road.

Erik held onto consciousness, refusing to submit to this slave of the Vicomte. Any man who would hit a woman was far more than a coward to him. Any man who hit Christine was as good as dead to him.

He met the Claude's gaze with a challenge, a threat. "You sir do not know what you have just done to yourself. Do you truly believe it is so easy to capture a Phantom?" He laughed, a sound so laced with darkness and deranged passion, Claude couldn't endure it without shuddering. "I've murdered for merely a glimpse at my face and now you have the impudence to kidnap my love?"

Claude faced his addresser with a confidence he was far from feeling. "Soon you will be swinging by a rope. I've no need to fear a dead man." The immediate change of the Erik's expression made him wish he hadn't spoken.

Erik sneered, more of a grimace than a smile. "But you forget Monsieur, I am a ghost." He said no more, leaving that final oath of vengeance hanging in the air as the guards pulled him away.

Once alone in the metal compartment, Erik allowed himself to shatter. Her screams… no ghost would ever haunt him like the sound of her broken voice crying out for him. And suddenly the realization hit him truly, Christine was gone, taken, unreachable.

He had failed her.

He had lost.

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><p>The next chapters should follow without much delsy. I hope this update was good and not too unorganized.<p>

Please review! I need them!

~bo-leigh bella


	15. Unacceptable

**Dear everyone who has ever followed my story:**

**Whether you are a loyal friend who has been patient with mesince the beginning or a newcomer who has given me praise recently, thank you for your support. Truly I do not deserve the amazing readers and reviewers I have been lucky enough to receive, especially as of late. I am so very sorry this update has taken months to write. I had a terrible case of writer's block and I am still not satisfied with this chapter, however I hope those who read this will enjoy it. Please forgive, I beg you, if you can. I know this update was terribly slow.**

**Also if anyone artsy is interested, I am looking for some fan art for the cover of Lost Love, please pm if you are interested.**

**Song suggestion for first section: Requiem for a Dream. Second: Unstoppable by Makura I believe.**

**Forgive me for not posting acknowledgments th****is chapter. I wanted to post as quickly as possible.**

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><p>Every turn of the wheels separated Christine from Erik and took him out of her reach and into the hands of the French authorities. She sat in the carriage, her voice gone from screaming and her tears held barely in check. Her shoulders drooped as she accepted a truth so ugly, until now she had refused to accept it.<p>

Raoul was going to kill Erik.

Perhaps it wasn't by his hand personally, but his actions were going to destroy every hope for a future she had. She had handled this blow long ago, when it had been Raoul's neck in a noose and Erik, deranged and hurt by his rejected passion for her, holding the rope to end his life. But Erik hadn't followed through on his threat, maybe only because she stopped him, but he had given her up freely.

Suddenly the carriage jolted as the horses halted before what she knew must be the De Chagny household, only one of their many lavish estates. The windows were covered, but she knew to who and where she was being delivered. Not to the quaint townhome she liked, but the enormous mansion Raoul had convinced her to move to shortly after her collapse.

The door hinges squeaked and the guard who had restrained her earlier helped her down, but the constant hand on her shoulder told her what intuition had hinted. She was being held captive.

Silently he urged her into the house, up the grand staircase, and into her old chambers. Once there he left and pulled the doors shut behind him. She wasn't certain, but she thought she heard the lock turn. Her rooms remained as she had left them, even to the covers that had been drawn down in preparation of her return from the opera. She turned away, staring out the windows, waiting for whatever this inevitable meeting would hold for her.

She listened and waited, but an object drew her notice. The tall gilded mirror. She winced in acute pain having always connected the smooth reflective surface with her angel. He wasn't here to save her now and she despised the blatant truth of it. Her copied face bled from where the ruffian had struck her. Christine didn't care. She wanted to be marked, become imperfect. Then she would belong to Erik's world and not Raoul's.

Her head snapped to the side when she picked up the sound of heavy steps in the hallway. The noise of the rapid tread seemed loud and foreign compared to living with someone who moved like a ghost.

"Why didn't you inform me sooner?" Raoul's tone betrayed his worried impatience. The door flew open and he stood rooted, shocked by the sight of her. Her skin gleamed ghostly pale and deep red blood trickled from a terrible gash on her cheek. "Christine, what happened? Who dared to harm you?" he questioned with angered urgency.

Her brown eyes were devoid of any warmth or regard for him. No worse, they were emotionless, dead. Christine stared him down with his own crime upon her cheek, "You did." The apathetic statement made his blonde brows pucker in absolute confusion.

"Darling, what are you talking about? I just rescued you. You must be confused. But you're hurt." Raoul ached for her. His poor Christine had been through so much, she did not even seem to comprehend what she was saying.

"Rescue?" she repeated, accusation beginning to rise. "No, Raoul you have stolen me and decided to deem it a virtue. Nevermind how I feel about my life. Nevermind how I feel about being taken!"

"I did not steal you, I brought you home," he stated incredulously, believing fully his words were true. He couldn't understand how she misinterpreted everything.

"No! Do you think I was a prisoner Raoul? That I was held against my will? Of course that would be the only reason I could have stayed with him," she said angrily. "No sane young woman would willingly live with an alleged captor." Her words were laced with sarcasm. How could Raoul pretend he did not grasp even the slightest notion of how she felt. How could he be so blind?

"Exactly!" he exclaimed. But if she grasped her situation, why did she look so hurt?

"Have you forgotten that I _followed_ him from the opera? He did not abduct me and even tried to force me away. It has been my choice, _mine_ to remain with him." She watched his face contort in agony, but her own pain couldn't indulge any other.

He stood staring at her, uncomprehending and finally managed to ask, "Why?"

She hesitated, knowing the answer could never be taken back, "Because I love him." Almost immediately his gaze found the ring on her finger and his expression hardened.

"I don't believe you. He had probably filled your head with lies of retaliation if you didn't comply with his wishes. Christine, you cannot bow to this monster and his threats, he isn't able to harm us anymore. The devil probably convinced you to preserve your life or mine, but you needn't fear him."

At first Christine had listened pityingly, but the moment she heard devil and monster, her pity morphed to fury. "Monster!" she cried. "No, Raoul he is a good man who did not threaten my life but gave it to me. He is my future and always has been and I am sorry, so sincerely sorry you both had to be hurt so many times for me to realize it." Her yelling had shifted to frenzied sobs. "But you…you are going to destroy me if you kill him. You can't and I will not let you, because if you do, I swear on my father's life I will _never_ forgive you. I choose him, Raoul."

Her conviction stunned Raoul and his resolve almost wavered... almost. "I refuse to believe you have decided to protect a murdering corpse. The minute he is gone you will be free. I am only trying to give you what you asked for, protection and freedom from the darkness. Why won't you accept it?" Any answer was preferable to accepting her claim of love. He almost gagged thinking of the hideousness of her captor's face. No, she couldn't love a man whose deeds and face were so ugly. It was madness to even think of!

Freedom. The term struck a chord, a memory within Christine's mind. She finally had the courage to question what she had feared so long, "Why do you want me to stop singing?"

Raoul's brow lifted at the spontaneous change of subject, but drew down when he grasped her reasoning. "I just find it unnecessary," he stated evasively, "As a Vicomtess you wouldn't need to strain yourself for money. And…" He realized what truly worried him so much. "You aren't yourself when you sing and it goes far beyond acting a character. You change and I don't recognize the woman I see on stage. She isn't my Christine."

"Exactly," she whispered. "But she is who I really am, Raoul, who I have always hidden. If you cannot accept and love her, then you truly don't love me. I am the music and he is as well. We are one person and I refuse to stand by while he perishes. I ran away from him because I didn't understand, but now I do and I have realized that I have been his since the beginning. He adores the girl who society would shun, and the woman you cannot fathom."

Raoul grasped to the strings of hope that were being shredded, " But you loved me, Christine. At the house by the sea."

She shook her head in disbelief, "Yes, Raoul, and neither of us are the same people we were then. Surely I have lost the innocence of a child who believed in wondrous fairytales and angels."

He shook his head in aggravation and disbelief. "And that is precisely due to your discovery that your beautiful angel was a disfigured, evil demon! Forgive me for reminding you of the truth behind all of this madness. My God Christine, have you simply pushed all reason and the cruelty we endured because of that murderer from your mind? He attempted to kill me and now you will excuse him simply due to his supporting your music?"

"How can you speak of his cruelty? Raoul, has he ever known anything else from the world? We all made him cruel. He yearned to be an angel, but everyone deemed him a villain, so he simply filled the role he was given. What else could he have done? He had the choice to attack first or be destroyed by those who feared his mask and his scars. All that remained to him was music: his beauty, his truth, his life are in the stanzas he composes. I excuse him because I see the purity of him _in_ the music. And it isn't my music, it never has been. He gave me a song and created my voice." She paused, trying to remain strong. "I refuse to be your caged wife, not allowed to sing or perform or even be myself for fear of breaking the rules of society. I'm sorry." She reached inside the cloak on her bed to draw out his engagement ring. She offered it to him silently.

"I see," he whispered quietly. He refused to meet her eyes as he took back the ring that once meant the promise of a future with her. None of this made any sense. How could his life have been altered so completley?

"But Raoul, please, as you care for me, do not kill him. I'll beg and cry if I must, I'll do anything if you would only let him go…"

The sound of his relieved laughter interrupted her quickly. "My dear, you're quite the actress, so convincing in your fervency. But I can see his stamp in your words, his arguments falling from your lips like rehearsed lines from a script." He looked up into her eyes, seeing disappointment he couldn't comprehend. "Don't chide yourself for being found out, darling. I simply know you too well to ever accept such a lie as you're consenting to be his wife."

She stared up at him incredulously. Was he so uncaring as to ignore the feelings of her heart so plainly put on display? "Raoul!" she shouted angrily, "Will you please listen to me?"

"I am, Christine," he replied, his manner suddenly shifting to an icy tolerance, "and not a word out of your mouth has been from you. I cannot believe how thoroughly he has manipulated you. But fear not, soon you won't have to think of the Phantom ever again." Without giving her a chance to reply, he abruptly strode out the door and left her alone.

Silently she called herself every manner of fool, he would never see, never understand. She shuddered, dreading what would follow her jilted fiancée's rejection. If he wouldn't listen, how could she save Erik? She felt helpless, unable to find Erik, unable to help him. How could she have been so wrong about Raoul? The romantic boy she knew had been replaced by a cold man unwilling to budge from his arrogant beliefs. She feared that arrogance was going to break them all.

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><p>Raoul walked away with every muscle in his body pulled taut. His mouth twisted in a grim line thinking of how the Ghost had changed Christine. <em>His<em> fiancee had left an innocent angel and returned as dark as the demon. The Phantom had poisoned her thoughts, manipulating them to make her see the world in his own twisted way.

He worried slightly that perhaps this new woman truly was Christine, and he had only ignored her changing. What if she meant what she said? What if she loved that _thing_?

No! This had to all be some hideous plot worked out by that madman. He had some how managed to steal Christine's heart and mind while he had her within his clutches.

Raoul would get her back! By God, he would not rest until the source of her corruption was destroyed, obliterated so that he may never haunt their lives again. Storming through the halls and out the door, he entered a carraige. It was time to end this and put the nightmares behind them.

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><p>Pain pulsed behind his skull like a hammering heartbeat. His temple felt sore and his eyes ached. At first the darkness surrounding him kept him calm despite his discomfort. The deep shadows comforted him, making him experience the relief of being in a realm without light where he could go unnoticed and move without detection. But then…he remembered.<p>

"_Erik!" _The resounding scream in his mind made his entire body jolt into awareness. The ghostly, lashing sound echoed in his thoughts sickeningly reminding him of losing her. Nothing could break him apart faster than that one sound. The horrific sound of Christine's anguish.

"How?" He questioned softly. How had he managed to lose his purpose for living? Again. His fists clenched, restraining the rage simmering inside. Then he felt the true restraints.

The agony in his mind had distracted him from his current predicament. His hands were bound by metal chains looped behind his back. He pulled, testing. His tiny dank room smelled of urine and sweat and misery. The only light trickled in through a slitted window in his door. His keen vision could still easily take in his bricked quarters.

He hissed realizing he had been stripped not only of his cape and jacket, but his mask as well. All he had left was his white shirt, black suit pants, and his boots. Those didn't matter without the mask. He felt exposed and terribly vulnerable.

With his mask he held the authority and fear inspired power of the Phantom. He feared no one when he ruled using the terror he created as a weapon. The mask enabled him to play god. Behind its barrier he could hide insecurity and pain, exuding instead one who felt no emotion and was all the more terrifying because of it.

But without it… he was simply a broken, disfigured man.

He had been in a captured, helpless state before. But never had he needed so desperately to be strong and powerful than now. But he wasn't. The tragedy of it tore at his sanity like claws raking through his brain.

Defeated.

When had the Opera Ghost or Phantom ever failed? Not once. But when he tried to play mortal like everyone else and love, he was destroyed by its loss. Twice now the pain had descended upon his soul because of Christine. But the experience was so much worse knowing he had faltered and lost her himself. Having her walk away hadn't been nearly as excruciating because at least he knew she had chosen.

That was merciful compared to having her ripped from his grasp, unable to protect the one person on this earth he longed to keep safe. Erik's shoulders shuddered in sorrow and self-hatred. How could he have let this happen? Behind his squinted lids he still saw the terrible image of her tearful brown eyes and the scarlet blood running down her cheek.

Fury.

Fury to the point of insanity burned through his veins like a drug spreading hatred throughout every cell of his being. How dare he! How dare that insolent Vicomte believe he could send some common trash to steal Christine away? The pompous fool had to have been either too frightened or too uncaring to get his hands dirty. Erik had lusted for that man's blood before, but now he longed to tear him apart, limb from limb, until he felt the same agony pulsing through Erik's body. He wanted him to truly experience how it felt to be so consumed by tortuous pain, that no other feeling can infiltrate your mind. Only when the boy was lost inside torment would he understand Erik's plight. And perhaps even that wouldn't satisfy the Phantom's need for vengeance.

His fisted hands shook and strained against cold metal for his anger wasn't directed at Raoul as much as it was himself. He felt lost and crushed, twisted every way by his grief. He could only imagine what De Chagny was telling Christine. Making excuses but also contradicting every emotion she had felt since their reunion. He feared her abandoning him as she had before. Her love for him wasn't logical, and she knew so much now of his past she had every reason to hate and despise him. How could she not? Every sin had been confessed, every transgression brought to light so she would truly know him. She should run, never look back, never even think of the hideous monster he was.

But she will not, his mind insisted.

Suddenly his back straightened and his shoulders lifted, the conviction of that thought making his brain work feverishly. _His_ Christine had agreed to marry him._ His_ Christine had said she loved him. He'd be damned before he would let her go. Wallowing in his failure would do nothing to win her back. Instead of dwelling on mistakes that couldn't be undone he began to shift his thoughts toward his true purpose. Maybe he was imprisoned now, but he couldn't simply accept defeat. With Christine's assured love, that could not even be entertained as a thought.

Erik may have lived recently as a man with Christine. But before that blessed time his realm had not been with the seen, it hadn't even been among the living.

He not long ago had been a master of deception and illusion, able to appear and disappear at whim, only being glimpsed by those he wished to see him. He had been able to escape any trap or seemingly dead-end without any trace left behind. He had controlled those around him with merely a whispered word or written threat with immediate compliance to his wishes. He had been everywhere and nowhere, seeing the world through the eyes of an undected spy. He had created amazing musical feats, miracles of songs, and also had set into motion disasters beyond imagination. He had been tortured beyond the capacity of men and lived. He had been rumored to be dead for years and yet still breathed.

He was the Phantom of the Opera.

And for Christine, would be again.

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><p><strong>If you liked this chapter please tell me, if not be honest but be nice! PLEASE PLEASE REVIEW! That's all I ask of you :)<strong>

**Really though, as I said before this chapter has had me vexed for a while so tell me if you enjoyed it so i'll know whether or not to rewrite it. If you did like it please send a little encouragement my way, you have no idea how much I need and appreciate it.**

**Btw I posted a Lost Love trailer on youtube if you would like to watch it. I've never made a video before but I think it turned out well. Watch, like, and comment please :)**

**Thank you all so much and as always much love,**

**~bo-leigh bella**


	16. Musical Madness, Patiently Plotting

**Alright, chapter 16 is complete, I am happy to say. First off, thank you to everyone who took the time to review last chapter. I sincerely needed every word.**

**Big thanks to: FlorenceAndTheMachineFan, Sleepest-Angel, , darkgemwildcat, , Alana Fox, Ugly Truth, PhantomFan01, x0allisonqt0x, phan123432, AngelBreeze, Abovethemelody, and Nami Swannn for all the encouraging comments, reviews, and praise. I adored each and every one.**

**Wrena-Can't believe you think my writing superior. I read the first few chapters of Through Sleep She Came, not only is the concept interesting but your Phantom is wonderfully in character and the OC is very intriguing.**

**Amalia Santoro, CaptainHooksGirl, WolfieBurnsTheNight, Emsnoo- Thank you all for the very warm welcome back. I missed having such sweet reviewers ;)**

**Incredibly Anonymous-I would like to tell you how great your comment made me feel. I feel like writing for such wonderful and appreciative people is a privilege. Especially when I have such supportive followers.**

**Seraphina-Rose-hope I posted quick enough and thanks for loving the last chapter.**

**UltimateKawaiiGirl-Thank you for taking the time to read and review almost every single chapter even though you just found this story. I mean, wow. The dedication is awesome.**

**Starcrier-Thanks for editing this chapter and being so willing to help. I am grateful for not only your help but your continued support and reviews.**

**(As always if you wanted a personal response and didn't receive one please don't hold it against me. I truly appreciate all of you. Want one next chapter? Leave a PR at the end of your review.)**

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><p>"What do you mean public trial? Can we not simply agree that his crimes warrant immediate execution and be done with it? Surely you have more than the adequate amount of evidence against him!" Raoul was out of patience. He had been back and forth to this office for over a week. Yet despite their friendship, his colleague Jean refused to hold a private trial with only Raoul and the Phantom in attendance. None of his persuasions seemed to be convincing him.<p>

"I am sorry, Raoul. You know I have done all I can for you. But he has simply wronged too many citizens to not give them all the justice they seek and deserve. I pray you will accept my apologies and be content with what I have to offer."

"Forgive me if I cannot find contentment while that murderer lives," he muttered angrily.

"Raoul, do be sensible. You know as well as I that holding a private trial would be madness. It simply cannot be done. But I am working to rearrange my other cases to give you and your fiancée the earliest court date possible. That way you both can testify, the verdict will be announced and hopefully we will hear the last of all this "Phantom" nonsense."

Raoul eyed his friend somewhat guiltily, "Actually, Mademoiselle Daae will not be present at the trial."

Jean scowled at this news, "And why is that? Why on earth would your fiancée refuse to speak against her abductor?" His questions were highly suspicious. Everyone who knew the story of the Phantom of the Opera had also heard tales of the supposed romance between the ghost and the prima donna. Jean dared not taunt the Vicomte with such tales, but he had to question the reasons behind the young woman's absence.

Raoul seemed extremely uncomfortable with the subject. Jean could tell he would rather speak about anything but the current topic. But as the judge presiding over the Opera Ghost's case, he needed to know the answer to his question. "Raoul?"

Suddenly the Vicomte de Chagny slammed his palms against the desk, "Must you make me say it!" he demanded irritably. "Christine refuses to speak against him," he informed him miserably. After his confession, he ducked his head sadly.

Jean's eyes widened and he cleared his throat nervously. He had known the Vicomte since they were children but never had he seen him so shaken and upset. "You are not going to want to hear this, but I am going to be upfront with you. Without her testimony we will not have a case against him. She was supposed to be the main argument because no one else has technically been assaulted by the ghost."

Raoul's face jerked up, protest written in every feature. "But-,"

"Please, let me finish."

Raoul frowned but nodded for him to continue.

"We have the Phantom in custody, it is true. But there are too many 'what ifs', too many outlying variables that can absolutely ruin this case. First, you have the murder of the stagehand. There is not one witness to say they saw him do it. For all we know, the man committed suicide after spending years oppressed by those artsy managers. The only description of the Phantom from that night is of a terribly beautiful voice and a shadow moving in the rafters. That's hardly incriminating."

"Then you have the chandelier and the fire. Both incidents ended in casualties but only injuries. No deaths. Even that I could manipulate if we could prove for a fact the person we have in custody is the Phantom. But we cannot! That is the most maddening aspect of all. This man, this…this _ghost_ has no records or files, no proof of existence. Many people still believe the tragedies surrounding him were simply coincidences fabricated to give the Opera Populaire free publicity in the papers. Though who would believe that idiocy after the fire is beyond me."

"But back to my point, without Mademoiselle Daae there is no point in even holding a trial. It will make the judiciaries look bad. The common people will say we accused and sentenced an innocent man simply so we could claim we had solved and finished the "phantom" case. It is no secret that our law enforcement has been frustrated by him."

"So I'll be frank with you, either you convince her to testify or you allow me to let this man go."

"Let him go!? You would let that murderer walk away after everything he has done? How can you even suggest such a thing?" Raoul questioned angrily, clearly livid at even considering such an option.

"If he truly put you two through so much, it shouldn't take very much convincing on your part to get your fiancée to cooperate." Jean glared pointedly at Raoul, daring him to argue.

"Thank you for your help, Jean." His tone was sarcastic but formalities must be upheld. He left the office quickly. Lord willing, he could fix the situation with Christine and everything would fall into place.

He groaned angrily; he highly doubted Christine would suddenly change her mind. Even still he had to at least try.

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><p>Christine had been alone in her rooms for hours, pacing and moving with restlessness and anxiety. Servants came and went occasionally, bringing in meals and taking away the untouched food from previous visits. They never spoke to her, not when she questioned them about Raoul, not when she asked why her door was being kept locked, not even when she screamed and yelled at them in frustration and fear. They simply went about doing their jobs in maddening silence, and left when they had finished.<p>

All the servants shared the same expression, a strange mix of wariness, pity, and curiosity. Only when she dared to inquire about the captured Phantom (she did not chance to use his real name) did she understand. The elderly woman looked at her sadly and shook her head. It was the look in her wise eyes that told Christine what they believed:

She had lost her mind.

When she realized this horrifying truth, she reacted in a way that wouldn't help to alter their opinions to the contrary. She began to laugh, a horribly forced giggle that held no trace of humor in its tortured tones. She did not laugh for amusement's sake. No, her bizarre emotion came from the realization that no one would believe her should she tell them her feelings for Erik. No one. Her laughter came from pain, from a sorrow so pure that she had to chuckle at her own suffering to keep from being suffocated in it.

Even so her eyes reddened and her laughing mingled with the sound of choked sobs. But she didn't cry, no. She preferred to let them think her mad than break before their judgment. Let them make their own assumptions. She had to be strong, for Erik.

Christine knew a certain satisfaction when the woman's eyes widened in terror and she hastily retreated from the room. She did not glory in the servant's discomfort, but enjoyed being feared if it meant they understood her to be the "Ghost's" and not the Vicomte's.

Still shaking with suppressed cries and laughter, she wondered sadly if she was indeed losing her grip on sanity. She felt as though she had been through enough turmoil to have her mind broken. Every emotional extreme surely left a fracture in her mind and splintered her thoughts. Only one detail of the prospect frightened her: does one realize if they have gone mad? She had no way to know the answer, but hoped she would notice if she lost her hold over her brain. She couldn't afford to lose it now.

Christine fisted her small hands with resolve, she would not lose herself. She closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around her waist, wanting Erik's strong, comforting embrace instead. But he wasn't there!

But… a part of him remained with her. It was a gift he had bestowed upon her that no person could steal or break, a beautiful piece of his soul that could _never_ be taken away.

It was with a defiant heart she stood up and gazed into the darkness outside her windows as though she stared into his light green blue eyes. She took a calming breath to steady her nerves, and then…

She sang.

When Erik had been lost to her for months on end, she had been silent, in her own secret way mourning the loss of her teacher, her angel. But now she was determined to prove to anyone who would listen that she was his and he was hers. What better way was there to declare his ownership than by surrendering herself to his music, the creations of his heart? Their souls met and entwined within the pitches of his genius and now she would revel in their brilliance if only to keep his presence close. She did not attempt to mute or stifle her voice. Christine allowed her tone to soar and glide through lyrics as Erik had taught her.

She sang through each note of every song he had ever taught her, beginning with the first piece he had tutored her with. Each new composition held a memory within its lines, a portion of their past captured in the stanzas. When she sang a duet, she would pause when he should have picked up the melody, as though she could hear his voice echo in her head.

Her solitary serenade never ceased as she went through tune after tune, song after song. Her heavenly sound only faltered when she sang the music he had written specifically for her. Her voice would break, only to resound once again with renewed passion and conquer the weakness she had indulged.

Christine was quite aware the entire household could hear her concert and she did not care. The once shy girl had been replaced by a reckless, passionate woman unafraid to stand by her love, whether he be man or ghost, angel or phantom. If the only way she would be able to express her devotion was through music, so be it. And all the more appropriate.

After all, she was _his _protégée, _his _inspiration, _his_ love_, his_ angel!

Angel of Music.

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><p>The moment Raoul arrived he knew something was horribly wrong. His servants wouldn't meet his eyes and the eldest of them had tears at the edges of her sweet, old eyes.<p>

"What is it?" he asked. "What happened? Is Christine alright?"

His maid, Sennett, looked up at him sadly, "Forgive me, Vicomte, but the young mademoiselle, she…she has lost her mind."

Raoul's eyes widened in fear, "What do you mean?"

"The poor child asked about her demon-angel, and when I did not answer she looked at me as though I just slapped her. Then, Monsieur, she began to laugh, at nothing at all. She laughed and laughed, her whole body shaking with it. Her eyes were wild and her voice seemed to choke on the sounds of her mirth. I am afraid she has lost herself." Sennett seemed distraught. Christine had a way of captivating everyone who knew her. Raoul was aware even his servants adored her and it hurt them to see her now.

The Vicomte waited, "What else, Sennett, I can see that there is more."

The woman hesitated, "Monsieur Vicomte, she has been singing. Not just to practice, but we all believe it is for that monster she sings. Her voice has been haunting us with its beauty and… its sadness. She only stopped when she fell asleep. Mademoiselle Daae hardly eats anymore and refuses to speak to any of us. All she has done since last night and early this morning is sing."

Then he heard it, floating down the stairs, gaining volume and strength every moment was her stunning voice. He heard it caress each note of a melody and he couldn't understand how simple music could sound so forlorn. He walked past his servants with less confidence than he normally possessed. Raoul knew she only sang for that creature. He failed to comprehend how she could mourn being captive.

Striding up the staircase, he walked softly down the hall to her bed chamber. He paused at the thresh hold of her door, listening as she sang about her cursed "Angel of Music". He waited until she took a breath and knocked.

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><p>Christine halted her decrescendo and glanced warily at the door. She heard the lock click and glimpsed Raoul as he entered her room. She sat at her window, back rigid with tension and perfect performance posture. She looked into his eyes and glimpsed the pain that she caused with her lamenting songs. She could not find it within herself to pity Raoul. Perhaps she would have felt sorry if he wasn't the very reason she mourned.<p>

"Good afternoon," he greeted her formally.

Christine did not feel like wasting time with courtesies. "What is it, Raoul?"

"Why must you speak with me so coldly?"

"Why must you hold me against my wishes?" she countered angrily. She was beyond their tiring charade of civility.

"Christine, what will it take to make you come to your senses? What can I do to prove that I am only striving to protect you?"

She gazed at him harshly, "Let me go. If you truly wish to please me, let me out of this cushioned prison and leave me be. If you want to protect me, let my protector go."

"Protector?" he scoffed. "How many times must I remind you that that man has abducted you? Can you not see how he has twisted your mind to see him as an angel? Good god, Christine your entire relationship with him was based on lies! How can you see a partnership based on sin as beneficial? He has murdered people, Christine! In cold blood, without mercy, without remorse."

"How would you know what he does and does not feel? Have you ever taken the time to ask? All you see is his mask, you never wonder at the emotions beneath. You don't believe he even possesses them! How dare you!"

"You're right I don't believe he has a single honest emotion in him. And why? Because that freak tried to kill me and has robbed you of yourself. He does such heinous things in the name of love. It's…it's evil what he has done. I won't just let you disappear, Christine. You asked me to save you once, and by God, I intend to do just that." He gazed into her eyes and glimpsed no waver in her anger and resistance. He softened his tone, "But, it would help if you wanted to be saved and would let me rescue you."

"There is nothing to be saved from, Raoul. He isn't the devil you think he is. I do not expect you to believe me, but I love him. And no words you say to argue, no actions you take to persuade me, will make me feel otherwise."

"How can you desire him? He is not only scarred and ugly but mad as well! Do you truly want to belong to man who would keep you locked away in the dark?"

"His scars are beautiful compared to your perfection," she told him icily. "At least if he kept me in the shadows with him I would be content there. You cage me in your home and all I can contemplate is leaving, escaping to be with the "Phantom". What do you expect to gain from this, Raoul? Do you not realize that in the event of your triumph over him, you still would fail? If you k-," she stuttered over the term, "end him, you will not have miraculously won my favor. Quite the contrary, you will have destroyed any remote feelings I still possess towards you save hatred. Eliminating him shall not serve to make me love you again. If that is what you are hoping for, then you are gravely and most horribly mistaken."

"Perhaps it isn't just for your favor I fight, Christine. Maybe I am trying to rescue you before you are entirely lost to damnation with that devil. The only way I see to save you is by destroying him," he declared.

"Do you not understand, Raoul, I have always been his. Always." To explain she lifted the hem of her gown several inches, revealing the black slash of silk she still wore tied above her ankle. "This is no gift from a friend. This charm is his and marks me as the same. I kept it so I would never have to give him up. And now you threaten to take him away permanently. If he were gone, I… I am not even certain what I would do." Her entire expression fell to one of fear and sorrow. But then her eyes flickered up to stare sharply into his, "But of this I am sure, I could never love again. Not after him. Even beyond my grasp, beyond this world, he would always hold my heart."

Raoul looked into the depths of her brown eyes and knew nothing he could say would dissuade her from her current madness. The thought sickened him. She wasn't going to be manipulated into testifying against that demon. Not with her innocent mind so twisted by her inexplicable grief. Raoul understood she missed the angel. That was logical. Her father had promised a guardian and she mourned its loss. He could only hope that was the reason for her refusal to condemn the Phantom.

He was shaken by her words though, and unable to take it he left the room. He felt as though he could scream. The fury and hurt within tortured him. He needed answers, but had no way to find them…

Suddenly he knew what he could do to find the source of Christine's insanity.

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><p>Erik walked fitfully back and forth between the walls of his cell. Binding his wrists hadn't hindered him at all in getting up and about. It was insulting that they thought the almighty Opera Ghost could be so easily contained. If they wanted him subdued they should have chained him to the wall instead. That, at least, might have posed a challenge.<p>

As he paced he muttered words between clenched teeth, planning. He hardly noticed the passing of time. Instead he focused intensely on his captor's comings and goings. There were always guards outside his door, two. From the changing of shifts he knew each one by name and voice. At one time or another each and every one had taunted him, trying to bring about a response to their questions. He enjoyed their obvious discomfort when he would only smile menacingly, his displayed scars twisting into a diabolical grimace.

Between each changing of the guard his keepers would send in stale bread and water, just enough to keep him from starving or complete dehydration. For a man who once survived with music for his only form of sustenance, it was more than enough. Whenever he heard them approach his cell, he would immediately arrange himself back into the chair, not wishing them to know how easily he could become mobile. During his "meals" they would rearrange his handcuffs to where his arms were in front of his body and he could eat. Erik frankly thought this ritual to be completely idiotic. But he allowed them to think he was their humbled prisoner. He burned with hatred acting the role, but knew it was necessary, so very crucial to his plot.

Only once had the police chief come down into the cell block, but it had been long enough. His barking voice sounded out orders, low and nasal. He memorized every nuance of the timbre, committing it to his memory.

The details Erik hadn't figured yet bothered him immensely. He had awakened in his dark cell with little to no recollection as to how he ended up there. He cursed himself, wishing he knew the layout of the building, better to formulate a plausible escape route. He could only guess at its shape and structure by the sound that bounced off its walls. Even that only gave him a vague idea of its size. If only he could just see the interior, then…

His entire body quickly grew rigid while his head tilted toward the door. Erik heard a muffled order followed by quick steps. He knew the tone immediately and was not at all surprised. He hastily rearranged himself into his victim-like pose in the chair, tilting his face down in seeming dejection and sloping his shoulders with an air of defeat.

The same voice asked the guards for a "private moment with the criminal". Erik smiled slightly, pleased with the prospect. He could imagine so many reasons for this visit.

The key turned and the door opened and quickly closed again behind his visitor.

"What did you do to her?" the curt demand was spit at him.

"Quite a rude greeting from a well-mannered Vicomte," Erik replied coolly. He lifted his chin to watch De Chagny's expression. His face was contorted in anger, but Erik also saw the desperation in his eyes and the pain lurking beneath the fury used to mask it. Oh, this would be enjoyable indeed.

"Do not mock me, Monsieur. What kind of threat did you use against Christine?"

"I am afraid I have no idea what you mean. I have not threatened anyone lately, let alone Christine. In fact she is precisely the reason no one has received any letters insinuating violence. I've had no need to." His response was baiting and he knew it.

"Liar!" Raoul practically shrieked. "You had to have done something to make her defend you so adamantly."

"You would enjoy that wouldn't you?" Erik asked lowly, "Being able to reason her affection for a monster as a result of ultimatums or tricks on my part. Unfortunately I have no condolences to give you to ease the blow to your ego." He paused, "This must be killing you." He stated with an amused tone.

"What do you mean?"

"I can only assume your presence here is a result of Christine revealing that she no longer loves you and instead has given her coveted affections to the loathsome demon before you." Erik watched as the Vicomte's face flickered between emotions he wished to present and the hurt he couldn't conceal. "Pray tell, how many times have you called her every conviction a lie these past days?" He asked the question in an offhand manner, but truly meant every word. His anxiety was masked perfectly, but secretly he worried over how his delicate Christine was faring against the harsh judgment she surely must be facing.

"Those were not convictions she has been spouting but manipulations on your part. Everyone who has heard her singing believes her to be entirely mad. I hope you-,"

Laughter cut off the Vicomte's words. Erik didn't even attempt to contain his joy. Singing! Christine had been singing in his absence. She could not have proclaimed her love more adamantly had she tried. Erik savored the knowledge that _his_ Christine defied the Vicomte in such a way. The delicious news served to give him more confidence. "And do you believe her music to be another piece of my devious plot? Are you truly so ignorant?"

"Your music is the only piece of you she ever loved. It would not surprise me if you used against her still. You probably employed your hypnotic tunes to entrance her or claimed you would destroy the songs she regards to coerce her." Both were likely theories in Raoul's mind.

"I did nothing of the sort and you damn well know it," Erik replied with an edge of anger. "Face your new plight like a man instead of creating excuses like a pouting child. No amount of objections will alter the reality that Christine prefers scarred imperfection to you."

"How dare you-,"

"Yes, I dare!" Erik suddenly shouted, losing all remnants his previous amusement in response to Raoul's arrogance. "_If_ I had threatened Christine, she would have stayed true to character and run to you in tears, confident in your ability as the hero to save her from me. She plays the damsel quite well. But she hasn't been giving you any reason to retaliate has she?" He answered himself, "No. Instead I imagine she has been vainly trying to persuade a fool to see her heart. But you, being the fool, won't believe a word she says despite the engagement ring on her finger and her despondency in my absence. Instead you would rather twist each word she tells you into a lie to cover up a horror story kidnapping committed by a murderous freak. It must be agonizing knowing you have lost her to a mangled corpse." Erik prayed his summation accurate and immediately was reassured of its validity as the Vicomte's eyes filled with rage. Erik knew that type of anger did not stem from vicious lies, but truths one did not wish to hear.

"How long are you going to continue lying to yourself?" he questioned harshly.

"Enough!" Raoul yelled. His hands were quivering in tense fists at his sides. "I don't know what you have done, but understand this. Christine will come to realize what a devil you are, and when she does I will feel no remorse in ending your pathetic excuse for an existence. You may have possessed control when you were an Opera Ghost, but you have no sway, no power now. No one is afraid of you anymore. We all know you are a frail, frightened coward…" The Vicomte had been looming over Erik, but suddenly his legs were knocked sideways and he found his head smashing against the cement floor. Before he could react the Phantom's boot was at his throat.

The guard's rushed in at the commotion. As they hurried to escort him out, Raoul could not drown out the Phantom's parting words. "Believe me, Vicomte; we shall see who has the power between us."

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><p><strong><strong>If you didn't see it last chapter. There is now a trailer for Lost Love on youtube. For details visit my profile.<strong>**

**Did you like this chapter? Please let me know what you think. I hope I posted in reasonable time. I really tried. Hope you enjoyed it.**

**Please tell me, and please, please, please REVIEW if you did!**

**Much love,**

**~bo-leigh bella**


	17. From Lost To Lasting

**Dear readers, I hope you enjoy this chapter, please read and review! Thank you to everyone who has stuck with this tale. Your patience is amazing.**

**Bri-gleegal-I cannot express how great I feel when someone says they love my story. Thanks a billion for that!**

**CaptainHooksGirl-Your review was quite inquisitive, I love the questions and curiosity. **

**Nami Swannn and PhantomFan01-Christine is in quite a fix. I wonder how on earth she'll get out of it, or…if she will. (Wrings hands diabolically.) ;)**

**UltimateKawaiiGirl-No trouble at all, such sweet reviews deserve praise. And thanks once again for your continued support.**

**Abovethemelody and WolfieBurnsTheNight- I tried update quickly, hope you like what I have written. **

**Darkgemwildcat and** **Alana Fox –Thanks for showing a lil love for the last Chapter. It really boosts helps me so much when I get such wonderful reactions. **

**VentureWood-angelofmusic75-I have missed you terribly darling. And your review, as always, was wonderfully entertaining. Hope this chapter was posted in time to save your lovely eyes and I sincerely wish that you will enjoy it.**

**Emsnoo- Thanks, just thanks **

**Tesorina-Nice to hear from someone new and thank you so much!**

**Also thanks to Wrena for reading and reviewing both one-shots. Much appreciated :)**

**Starcrier-Thanks for being my new beta. You helped me improve this chapter and end it well. Plus you are so sweet and wonderful **** You make it so much easier to post and be confident.**

**Without further procrastination, enjoy this chapter. And please REVIEW!**

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><p>Erik was torn between satisfaction and a need for vengeance. He felt a bit better having put the Vicomte on the floor with just a single kick. It had been much too easy to bring the boy so low. The reward though, came through the terror that crossed De Chagny's face when he found himself at Erik's mercy yet again. If only there hadn't been enough sound to alert the guards, Erik may have well escaped already by using Raoul's life as leverage.<p>

Thoughts of their visit continued to circle in his head. He had picked apart every nuance of expression and voice, but still the information he had discerned was not enough to satiate him. He wished he could have switched places with the Vicomte, had him tied into submission. He could have attained the answers he so desperately needed. Instead he only had the vague tidbits the boy had let slip within their little exchange.

It filled him with renewed determination knowing she sang while he was captive. But at the same time he loathed, absolutely hated the fact that Christine was being held prisoner as well. He had always detested being detained, but he would rather rot in some prison than have Christine suffer the effects of such torture for even a day. It mattered not that her cage was plush and gentle. He could not stand thinking of her being unable to savor freedom. Once he had contemplated locking her away with him in the shadows. But all he could imagine was how she would surely despise him should he become her jailer. The idea became so repulsive, he never considered it again.

Now he felt furious the Vicomte could be so heartless as to imprison her. But even worse was knowing he could do nothing to change her situation. Yet.

He had been lying patiently in wait for weeks, and finally he knew a course of action. All the details were falling into place. If everything went flawlessly, he would be liberated before the day could end. He needed very specific circumstances, however. But today was the perfect day for them. His trial was to commence that evening. He didn't intend to be present for that sorry affair.

The day seemed to drag, the minutes seeming hours. Still, he would not act hastily.

Finally his guards opened his door to escort him to the courthouse. He went meekly, not even asking for his mask, though he felt terribly exposed without it.

They had scarcely crossed the threshold of his cell before the commanding officer called for one of his captors.

The two policemen exchanged a confused glance. "Monsieur," the summoned one called, "we are transporting a prisoner, sir."

"Do you think me ignorant?" came the irritated reply. "I am well aware. But by all means disobey orders. You surely know what is best."

The guard's face flushed crimson in embarrassment. He gave full control to his companion and hurried to seek out the police chief.

Erik waited until the door had closed securely behind him, all the while surveying the prison cell block for any other law enforcement officers. He was reassured when none were forthcoming.

He had one chance, a mere couple of minutes of opportunity. He wasn't about to waste it.

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><p>Christine was poised before her vanity. She did not bother with powder or rouge to cover up the signs of her grief. She instead opted to wear her mourning proudly, hoping perhaps the judge could see through to her true feelings.<p>

Raoul had been begging her to give her testimony against the Phantom. She planned to do just that. But her words would not be accusations. No, she would sing his praises and tell every heartfelt story she knew to everyone gathered to condemn him. She wanted to stand by his side as they deemed him a sinner and be named as his. How could they doubt her when she claimed to love him?

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><p>Erik could feel the nervous tension in his remaining keeper. He was a smart man to be afraid, for his fears were justified.<p>

He stopped walking, planting his leather clad boots against the floor. True to prediction the guard began to shove at his back, attempting to prod him forward. Still, Erik refused to budge. Not wanting to be outdone, the man threw all of his weight forward, meaning to force Erik's cooperation. But his shove was met with empty air and his own momentum threw him into a forward roll.

Erik came back up from his feint and quickly dispatched the guard with a short kick to the head. Besides an awful headache, the man should not suffer any ill effects. Jumping, he brought his chained hands under and forward.

He patted the man's pockets and was quickly rewarded with a ring of keys. With very little effort he was free of his handcuffs.

Then the game became riskier.

Erik glided on ghostly feet to the door and listened closely. The muffled voices weren't reassuring.

"But sir, you ordered me to assist you."

"I did nothing of the kind. How dare you abandon your duties for no cause? Do you think our captive some common criminal? He is the bloody Phantom of the Opera you simple minded idiot."

The men were quickly approaching. Moving as fast as he dared, Erik put out all the gas lights, plunging the hall in darkness. With the shadows on his side, he may be able to twist the interruption to his plan into an advantage.

Upon entering the hall, the captain exclaimed, "My God, what happened?" The chief was livid. But before he could investigate the black hall, he and his counterpart joined their coworker on the floor. Erik meant to waste no time. For a makeshift disguise, he confiscated the captain's hat and jacket.

Erik knew it would not be long before others realized the men were missing. Without hesitation he ran out of the hall. The door led into the main corridor. He tucked his head beneath the captain's fedora, hoping no one would notice him. Thankfully the main area seemed vacant. He glimpsed harsh midday light streaming through a door. Before he could second guess, he bolted for it. Running into the nearest shadows, he made for his sanctuary. He would not go after Christine without being completely prepared. He did not intend to leave without her, no matter what means he had to use.

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><p>Christine trembled as she entered the court house, terrified to see her love exposed. They could not understand his scars. They did not deserve to look upon them. Those marks were hers!<p>

She frowned when she recognized Jean. It appeared that Raoul had gone to every extreme to destroy her. The audience and witnesses shared an anger she could sense. These people had already judged Erik guilty. They were only waiting for his condemnation. The only person who seemed concerned was Meg. Pale and frightened, she cast glances at Christine every so often as though to ensure she was still present.

When the court had silenced the judge sat to indicate he was ready to begin.

"Today we are here to judge whether or not the man who will be brought before us is guilty or innocent of the crimes of which he has been accused. May God grant us the wisdom to see truth from lie, and fiction from reality and sentence him justly. Bring in the accused." Jean's opening statement was to reassure everyone there that this trial was in all ways serious and not at all to be taken lightly. Many had questioned the legitimacy of the trial, not truly believing the Ghost had been caught.

An awkward silence ensued, and no Phantom appeared. The doors burst open, and a very agitated policeman approached the judge. He discussed with Jean in low urgent tones. When the judge gasped, everyone in attendance tensed.

"Please," Jean began carefully, "No one overact. There has been a slight complication. It seems that the Opera Ghost has…," he obviously did not wish to finish his statement, "escaped."

A few screams were heard and a nervous murmur ran through the crowd. Christine ignored them all. She smiled brilliantly and threw a triumphant glance at Raoul. Erik was free. Erik was coming!

She did not protest as Raoul pulled her quickly away from the scene. She could see the anxiety and cared not that he panicked. Let him be afraid. She pitied him. Erik would definitely be furious when he found her.

When they arrived at the De Chagny mansion, Raoul sent orders in every direction. "I want every guard at his post and all the gates and doors locked tight. No one is to enter without my permission." He looked pointedly at Christine, "Or leave."

She glared back at him, but did not argue. She felt confident that she would have no need to escape. Not when her savior was surely coming to free her himself.

When Raoul had assured himself that he had done everything in his power to secure them, he locked Christine and himself inside her bedroom.

"None of your locks or guards can keep him out, you know?" Christine questioned him simply, as though explaining a complicated lesson to a child. "We could be in the center of the earth and he still would find a way in. Nothing can stop him from claiming me. And he will never cease trying until we are together again. Raoul, please look at me."

During her entire speech he had been facing the windows, trying to hide the fear and grief in his eyes from her. He felt so conflicted. Her every statement made her supposed madness seem more and more unlikely. Christine had yet to act as though she had lost her wits. But he just could not imagine her willingly choosing such a fate. It had been his purpose for what seemed a lifetime to keep her safe. Since their reunion, all he had desired was to share his life with his beautiful fiancée. He wanted her by his side forever, for he truly loved her. Or at least, he loved who she had been. When he turned to face the woman with him now, he wasn't sure if he recognized her anymore. Her once innocent and dreamy personality seemed to have intensified into a more passion laden and determined woman. Where once she would have sought strength from others, she possessed self-assurance not to be doubted.

But surely these unexplained changes were proof of the demon's possession. Weren't they?

When his eyes met hers, he no longer glimpsed the bright reaction he once inspired. Instead she stared at him with only pity. Pity! From a woman who once adored him.

"Did you ever love me?" he questioned softly. "Or was our entire courtship just a game to you? Was I simply a passing fancy, Christine?"

Her expression immediately changed to one of compassion. "Oh Raoul, I promise that once I truly believed I loved you. But, now that I have experienced real love, I cannot say that I did. I cared for you greatly. You were so gentle, so sweet to me. And more generous than I deserved. But the love I bore you cannot compare to the love I share with my Phantom." She waited a moment, hoping vainly that he would believe her. "He is everything to me."

"But if you truly care for him so much, how could you have left him?"

"Because," Erik stated, throwing the balcony doors wide, "she was deceived by everyone she valued. They told her that love for me was impossible and a sin to indulge. So she suppressed her heart to remain pure and wholesome. Her love was lost beneath judgment and ridicule thrown at her by the hypocrites like you."

Christine's eyes flew to his shadowed form. Wrapped in a cape and his stark mask showing, he looked every bit the invincible Opera Ghost. But she saw past the masks and bravado. One look into his green eyes exposed the desperation and elation he hid from Raoul.

"How did you get in here?" the Vicomte demanded.

"A magician never shares his secrets. But I will say you need to replace your watchmen. They would never catch an intruder. But that is not the true matter here is it? Needless to say, I am here for Christine. If you would kindly let her go, we can be through with all of this dramatic nonsense and get on with our lives. You have heard it from her own lips, she does not love you. And by some heavenly intervention she has chosen me."

"You love her as well. Tell me ghost, would you let her stroll out with a murderer?"

"Of course not. But it would not be my decision. Why not finally let her choose instead of arguing over who has the least sins and vices? I know I am not perfect. God knows I am about as twisted and grotesque as they come. But she loves me despite it."

"Raoul," Christine requested softly, "please, if you ever loved me, let me go with him. Do not make me hate you by keeping me locked away for the rest of my days. I am not mad, but being kept away from him will drive me to it if you force us apart. Please, let me go." Her large brown eyes looked to him beseechingly. She knew Erik would resort to violence if he must. She did not care for Raoul's recent actions, but she did understand them. He had only wanted to protect her as she once asked. He had just blinded himself to the fact that she no longer needed protecting.

Raoul's entire world seemed to be crumbling. But, he knew, as he had known for some time, she spoke only the truth. He hated to admit such a thing to himself, but he could not deny her any longer. He locked his eyes with the masked man. "Promise me something, monsieur." He did not ask, but commanded. "Promise you will take care of her. Protect her from what others will think and do because of _your_ deeds."

Erik was thoroughly surprised. He had expected the Vicomte to retaliate with swords blazing and gallant shows of heroism. But instead of determined opposition, he had been met with a man already defeated. It humbled him to know that his Christine had been so convicted; even her crushed fiancée could not doubt her.

"I give you my word, De Chagny. Nothing will ever be able to hurt her so long as I am alive to stop it. But I shall only honor your request if you would do the same." Speaking with the Vicomte so casually made their conflict seem much too simple. He needed assurance. "Do not ever seek us out again. If you mean to surrender, do not change your mind when you have had time to convince yourself again of lies and manipulation. For I swear, if you ever attempt to kidnap her again, I will not feel guilty for the consequences."

"Very well, Phantom." He looked beside him to Christine, who did not even flinch as the Ghost threatened his life.

She met his glance, "thank you."

"Go," Raoul told them. "They will be here any moment to look for him. And Christine," he beckoned as she ran to the Phantom, "Be happy and…and I am sorry." He turned away then, putting his back to dreams that would never be realized.

Christine's eyes filled, but she blinked away the tears, trying to hide their presence from Erik. She was afraid he would misunderstand her grief. "I forgive you, and I hope you can forgive me too."

Raoul's eyes widened at the request. But when he flipped about to her, they were both gone.

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><p>Erik and Christine had been riding for hours. He knew she must be sore and tired, but he wanted to leave the hurt and hunters behind. She had fallen in and out of sleep in his arms. Each time she woke, she would glance around fearfully, starting with terror. But then she would look up into his masked face and smile. That beautiful grin never ceased to amaze him. How miraculous to know that she had irrevocably chosen him.<p>

It was late into the night when Erik finally stopped to rest. He carried his sleeping fiancée through a gate and into a place no one was likely to look for them. He thought it only appropriate to end this chapter of their lives where it began. He laid her in the swan bed and collapsed beside her, and fell asleep lost in a love he finally had as his own.

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><p>Christine woke gasping. She sat up and was sure she was still asleep. How else could she be back in Paris? But when she saw Erik slumbering beside her, she began to cry. They were free and she would never be torn away from him again. Before she thought, she pulled Erik's mask away. Those scars suddenly tensed as though Erik could sense the air hitting his distortions. His green eyes flickered open, still glazed with sleep. But when they zeroed in on Christine, they widened.<p>

Suddenly Christine was crushed in his embrace, held tightly against his chest as though Erik was certain she would flee. His chin rested on her dark curls and he was shaking. "I could have sworn it was all a dream. Please, Christine, please tell me this is real. And if it is not," he paused, "please God, just lie to me."

In answer she pulled his head down and met his lips with hers, kissing him until she could hardly stay upright. But then his arms were pulling her waist against him and held her face tenderly as he kissed her back. "This is not helping convince me," he murmured. "It is too perfect."

"I pray it is real," she told him, "because I don't ever want to wake up without you again."

"You'll never have to. Have I told you lately what a wonder you are, Christine Daae? I came to that mansion ready to tear you out of the boy's grasp." He chuckled. "Imagine my surprise when the Vicomte had already been bested by a beautiful girl."

"I wouldn't say bested." She searched her mind for a more appropriate phrase. "I would say simply humbled."

"Even better." He grinned down at her scowl. "Come now, I was merely teasing."

She watched him and her expression become serious. "How did you do it?"

"You shall have to be more specific on the 'it' of which you speak."

"How did you manage to escape?" she asked in wonder. Truly this man who held her was no ordinary man. No one else could withstand the odds always being so stacked against them and still remain determined to overcome them. No matter his predicament, she believed Erik would always triumph.

"Oh, that. It wasn't very difficult. Pride is ultimately all of humanity's downfall. If you let people think of you as weak, they will begin to think themselves strong. I simply gave my captors an illusion of power and then took it away using parlor tricks."

She quirked a questioning brow at him. "Very well," he sighed, "I should have known better than to try and avoid your curiosity." He proceeded to tell her all that had transpired. How he used his amusing ventriloquism to manipulate the guards and procure his escape.

"Though it took a while to plan, it was easier than I imagined to execute." He looked down into her brown eyes and marveled at the emotion there. "I only wish I could have gotten to you sooner." Delicately, he brushed away the tears still lingering on her cheeks. " I…I am so sorry, Christine," he whispered. "I never imagined your boy could have been so cruel. But," he cleared his throat, attempting to hide his weakness, "you sang for me, while I was away. Christine, my brave darling, you are an angel, must be to have been so strong. How could I have let you be taken? It killed me to watch them pulling you away. And thinking I would never see you again was unbearable. It was my fault! I should have known. Should have been more prepared. Should have-,"

"Shh," she called softly. "Erik, none of that matters, none of it. All that I care about is being right here, with you."

"Where you belong," he stated fervently. "Oh, Christine, I love you so much. I could repeat the sentiment until I had no voice and still it could not express the extent."

"You could show me," she suggested quietly. He couldn't fathom her intent as she leapt from the bed and ran across the stone floor. He simply followed her ecstatic lead. He halted as he rounded the corner. Christine stood before his organ and smiled with slight anticipation. "Please?" she asked.

Not saying a word, he sat at his beloved instrument. Spreading his fingers over the ivory keys felt wonderful after being without music for so long. He knew exactly what would 'show her'. He closed his eyes and let the music have him. Every chord was glorious. But more beautiful than the pitches he created was the voice of his Christine, singing each lyric as she had before. However the difference was that this time, he believed every word.

"_Love cannot be stolen and love can never fail_

_It lives through every battle, somehow will prevail_

_True love never falters and true love never dies_

_Never shall surrender the heart where in it lies_

_Love is not of measure and love is not of cost_

_It is never won and will never be lost"_

"_Love is beauty itself when the heart can be free_

_But its wonder is not what our eyes can see_

_True love never falters and true love never dies_

_It is not always easy, is not always wise_

_But love is sent to us from heaven above_

_No one can claim to have ever lost love"_

_" For love cannot be shaken and love cannot be bruised_

_It knows nothing of neglect, knows nothing of abuse_

_True love never falters and true love never dies_

_It may only go in hiding underneath a sad disguise_

_Yes love knows no measure and love has not cost _

_And angel my love for you, could never be lost"_

_"But love is sent to us from heaven above_

_No one can claim to have ever lost love"_

Erik was consumed. His greatest work being sung by her gorgeous tones was the most rapturing feeling. He cherished every word. For though most of the lyrics were his, she had transformed his piece from a song of losing love to a song of lasting love.

The same way she had changed his life. Christine had taken the shunned creature he was and made him believe that love could exist, however unworthy he may be. Through every doubt and challenge she had proved that her love for him was real. That it could not be destroyed or taken, changed or beaten. And above all, never for a moment, had her love been lost.

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><p><strong>Well, what do you think? I am really sort of sad. Lost Love is reaching its end. There might be only a single chapter left. But there is hope for those who would like more. <strong>

**I have been bouncing around ideas for two more CHAPTER stories, NOT one-shots. But not sequels. Lost Love will probably not be continued. I believe when a story is over, extending the plot owuld be pointless. These stories will not in any way connect to LL beside the PotO part. :)If you would be interested please REVIEW and tell me. Please review anyways and tell me what you thought of this story. I have spent over a year writing it and I truly hope some of you out there have grown to love it as I have.**

**If you don't want to miss any upcoming Phantom Phics from me, add me to your author alerts. I may spend a few weeks writing out a bit of the stories if I choose to post them. I would hate for you to miss one if you wanted to read it.**

**Much love as always,**

**~bo-leigh bella**


	18. The Beginning

**Well, Lost Love is officially winding down. This will be the final true chapter, though I do intend to post a short epilogue as a short mini-chapter. Before I get emotional, here are the Acknowledgments:**

**CaptainHooksGirl-Thanks for supporting my less aggressive resolution. And of course Erik is a ninja ;) we all know that.**

**Abovethemelody-I wish it could last longer. Alas it must end quite soon. But I have two more PotO stories in the works. Hopefully you'll like 'em.**

**darkgemwildcat-I hadn't intended them to be sequels actually. But two new Phantom stories to stand on their own.**

**The-beauty-underneath-the-dark- Were those good tears?**

**PhantomFan01-I know there was a slight wait, but I hope you'll enjoy this chapter despite the tardiness.**

**Alana Fox-Thanks so much! I strive for perfection, though I rarely reach it.**

**Nami Swannn-I'm happy you enjoyed his escape, I'll admit it was one of the harder aspects to write. Also, I'm glad I could prevent your screaming laps around the house J hehehe**

**LaurenvBelladonna-Thank you very much! So glad you enjoyed it and thanks for reviewing!**

**Pianoloverred17-I love when people have an emotional response to my writing. Thanks so much for reading!**

**And a huge THANKS to Starcrier, my lovely beta whose ingenious guidance (and spelling/grammar corrections) help improve and organize this story.**

**Much love to each and every reader or reviewer who has taken the time to follow my story. I cannot express how much it means to me.**

**Without further ado, I hope you enjoy!**

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><p>Christine awoke alone in his lair. The light glow of distant candles surrounded her in warmth. But she glanced around in worry. Where was he?<p>

She sat up and turned to find a note on his pillow. She smiled at the red rose by its side.

_My dearest Christine,_

_Do not fret over my absence. I will return before nightfall. I have some promises to keep and precautions to take before I will feel safe again. I vow nothing will separate us ever again so long as I have the power to prevent it. _

_I pray you will not begrudge my short trip. Believe me when I say I would much rather be back in your embrace than running through the dark streets of France. I promise I am not in any danger, so you will have no motive to worry. _

_Run about the lair as you like, but I beg you not to leave its safety. It would torture me to come back to your disappearance. Please spare me the anxiety attack and stay put._

_My heart is yours, Christine Daae. I left it behind with you. Take care of it until I return._

_Yours in every possible way,_

_Erik _

The letter made her grin widen. It did trouble her slightly to be left alone, but she knew Erik would come for her. She knew better than to question his absence. Her ghostly lover had always possessed the tendency to appear and disappear sporadically. But she took comfort in that he left her a farewell before he vanished.

Her eyes darted to the sparkle on her left hand and she could hardly contain her excitement. She was to be married to the man of her every fantasy and now without fear or reservation. Though Erik was running about taking measures for their security, Christine already felt completely safe. She was impatient to move past this point in their relationship and truly begin their life _together_.

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><p>Erik moved silently through the streets. The night was pitch black and the shadows concealed him well. He had left his slumbering bride-to-be safely back at the Opera Populaire. It seemed safest to continue residing there and not risk the comfort of hotels where his mask might be recognized. It had been nearly impossible to abandon her, but he kept reassuring himself that no one else knew their location. She would be fine. He repeated the phrase often, like a mantra to hold on to his sanity.<p>

Up ahead he saw the seedy establishment he sought. The apartments were a bit run down and several women of the night stood on the corner trying to attract potential clients. He slipped around them without notice. There was no one running the desk downstairs and not a single person to speak of. Erik hastily ascended the stairs, seeking the correct room quietly.

Two drunks came stumbling down the corridor. One was laughing at his own crude statements, while the other struggled to maintain upright. Erik silently cursed but ducked back into the stairwell, waiting in a dank, unlit corner until they passed.

When all sound of their slow progress died away, Erik continued in his search. He searched the numbered rooms until he discovered the one he sought. Pulling the tools necessary from his cape, he made short work of the lock. The fool didn't even bother to deadbolt his home. He crossed the thresh hold with no tell-tale sound to give away his entrance. He closed the door, encouraged by the loud snores coming from the bed chamber.

He glanced at the ruffian disheveled and sprawled across his mattress. Erik wrinkled his nose at the smell of liquor clinging to the surroundings and his potential victim. He pulled the rope coiled around his forearm and silently set about enacting his plan.

Claude woke up suddenly, his head pounding from the after effects of alcohol. His eyes widened in alarm as he yanked and pulled his hands to no avail. They were tied behind his back and he was seated in his desk chair facing the window. His eyes jumped around what he could see of his apartment, but glimpsed no intruder. Not seeing his assailant only inspired his fears further.

"Come out you spineless coward," he growled in frustration. He did not at all enjoy this game, especially when the instigator remained unknown. In his line of work, Claude had plenty of people who held hatred and resentment of him. "Who hides if they are intending to frighten?" he asked angrily to the shadowed room.

"Ghosts, monsieur," the whispered answer sent a chill up Claude's spine. "We use darkness and shadows to play with our victims instead of appearing in our freakish bodies. I once told you that you would pay for attempting to best a Phantom. And your hour of reckoning has arrived."

"Opera Ghost," Claude decided unhappily. He couldn't help but recognize the terrifying voice. "You realize that all I did was under orders. You cannot blame a man for trying to make an honest living." He shuddered as he heard a low, menacing rumble in the shadows.

Erik could hardly contain his anger. His entire body was tense and he clenched his fists in attempted restraint. "You dare try and excuse your deplorable actions with such lies! I warn you, do not try falsehoods with me. I can see through the best masks and facades and I _know_ when I am being manipulated." Erik spit his observation through clenched teeth. "Despite my misgivings toward the Vicomte, I am all too aware he would never order a brute like you to abuse Christine. Count yourself lucky she has tamed the monster I once was, elsewise that rope would have been around your neck by now. But I would tread carefully; the idea is all too enticing." Erik watched in satisfaction as his captive trembled in uncontrollable fright.

"If…if you are not here to kill me, why did you come?" Claude could only imagine to torment the monster could inflict. Just his suspicions made him nervous.

"For leverage, I suppose, and perhaps the slightest bit of vengeance. Oh spare me your protests!" He declared before Claude could interrupt with the fears Erik knew plagued the man's mind. "Though your terror is warranted, I do not intend to harm you. Yet." He paused, letting Claude take the potential warning in. "I have come instead to insist, no,_ command_ you to end your current employment to the Vicomte. Though he has given his word, I will feel more assured knowing you are no longer an asset. I must admit I was slightly impressed that you had found me. However the feeling was smothered by resentment and hatred quick enough."

Suddenly Erik was mere inches away from Claude, looming over him menacingly. Claude shrank back against his chair.

"You _touched_ her, even worse you dared to_ harm _her! No one is ever allowed to hurt _my_ Christine. Especially not tools such as yourself. A pathetic slave to money has absolutely no place in her realm. How my hands ache to leave a mark upon your own face. But I would cut to the bone so you would never forget the pain or the reason behind your scar." Erik's hands shook in his fury. Just remembering the blood trickling down her cheek was enough to inspire his anger to an inferno of violence. It was with great effort that he controlled himself and kept from acting on his threat. "But, thanks to _her,_ I have decided to be merciful. Once. If you ever come near us again or even begin to attempt to seek us out, I will make you regret you had ever had the misfortune to cross my path." His eyes locked with the bounty hunter and every sinister word was spoken in harsh tones. "Do not presume to play _my_ game. As I have demonstrated so obviously for you, finding you is of little trouble to me. Nothing can stop me if I choose to find you. It is almost humorous how easily I could end you. So make an intelligent decision and forget you ever saw me or Christine. Leave us be and never employ yourself to someone who seeks us. Follow those instructions precisely and I will not have to arrange any disasters for you."

Erik analyzed every facet of the man's expression. He glimpsed a reassuring mix of dread and acceptance. Before Claude even agreed, he knew his answer.

"As you say, Phantom. Believe it or not I value what life I have. I'd hate to end it because of stupidity."

_Well put_, Erik thought. Nodding he cut the ropes on Claude's wrists. Before his adversary even stood, Erik was gone.

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><p>Erik entered the catacombs impatiently, rushing down stairways and through passageways in his haste to see Christine. He had spent the entire night planning, plotting, and attempting to put together their new life. Now all he desired was his Christine. When he reached the floor above, he heard echoes of her voice, humming the Finale from<em> Faust.<em> She had been more open with her voice since her rescue. The beguiling sound already had plans working in his mind. Even now the drifting tunes sent delicious shivers down his spine.

Finally, he arrived at the lair. He had moved silentlyand his radiant Christine remained unaware of her rapt audience.

Cold hands slid around her waist and pulled her back into the firm wall of his chest. She lost a surprised gasp as she leaned back into him. "So exquisite," he breathed against her neck, his lips barely tickling her sensitive skin. "Your voice, your heart, your body, everything about you is perfection. I couldn't have created such majesty had I worked a thousand lifetimes. Have you any idea how much I adore you?" His question rasped against her ear and made her tingle from head to toe. How could she have ever questioned being with Erik? Now it seemed so silly when being in his arms felt absolutely right.

"Truthfully?" She asked back.

"Of course."

"No, I do not. Erik, I cannot begin to understand how you still love me. But I am so thankful. I love you, _ange," _she told him softly.

She felt soft kisses pressed to the crease of her neck that she whimpered to receive. Suddenly he stopped and turned her to face him.

She didn't realize how pensive Erik truly was. Her statement sounded so incredibly wrong to him. She should never question his devotion to her. He gazed into her eyes, willing her to see as he did. "I still love you, Christine," he explained carefully, "because no one else on this earth could ever do what you have done. You are my everything. You, dearest, have had the bravery to see past even my face and find a way to love me. You cannot grasp the momentum of that gift. No one will or ever could replace you," he paused, "which is why I intend to marry you." He smiled gently down at her. "That way I have no reason to fear ever losing you again. You'll be mine, in every way."

"Yours," she echoed happily.

"And the sooner the better," he added quickly. She was already testing limits for him as it was. The temptation was becoming almost too much to bear. But if all of his preparation ended a he intended. He needn't wait much longer.

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><p>Erik waited impatiently outside the hotel bedroom. After the rumors of the escaped Opera Ghost had dissipated, he deemed it possible to move their residence from his lair. Leaving had been a melancholy mix of feelings, but both he and Christine agreed that they were ready to leave the past behind.<p>

Now he fought anxiety as he sat alone in the sitting room of their suite. Christine, his lovely Christine would be ready at any moment. He felt as though that moment were an unreachable time. Every second seemed to slip by slower than the last. He longed to rush into the room and assure himself that she was still there. It was too perfect to believe. But his fiancée had asked for complete privacy, much to his dismay.

How did other men stand this horrid nervousness!? It seemed completely illogical, but he couldn't banish the feelings of dread and elation that plagued him. Oh, hang tradition! He bounded to his feet, ready to rush into find her, but immediately froze when he heard the door open softly. There came the softest rustle of fabric and then, she stood before him.

"Oh," he whispered softly, almost unable to articulate even that meager response. Never, in his entire existence did Erik ever dare to dream of the image before him. Yet now, his greatest fantasy had become his astonishing reality.

She was the very portrait of a bride in love. Christine's gorgeous curls were held back by pearl tipped pins, a few wayward strands framing her glowing face. Her dress was pure white, trimmed in lace and ornamented with pearls, as innocent and lovely as she was. But those details faded compared to her expression. Erik's heart stuttered as he took in the radiant happiness shining from his bride's smile. He never thought to be greeted so fondly, especially since any sane woman should curse the day she would have to marry him. But not_ his_ girl. No, his soon to be wife seemed all the more elated that Erik was her groom.

Christine felt shy under Erik's scrutiny. But she waited patiently, grateful that he treated her with such care.

"You are beyond beautiful, Christine," he breathed. Her smile only grew. "No second thoughts I hope?" he questioned lightly.

But she saw right through his bravado to the fear he hid. She met his gaze eagerly, "None whatsoever." She watched as his eyes flickered as they analyzed her every emotion. It did not unnerve her; she knew he would find no deception, no fear, and definitely no regret. "I pray you can say the same?" she asked with a teasingly quirked brow and a suppressed giggle. She felt almost giddy with anticipation.

His expression lightened as he replied, "I've been waiting for this day for my entire life. I haven't a single doubt." His tone grew more serious, "I always knew it would be you." Christine's breath caught under the intensity of his gaze, but before she could act upon her desire, he offered his arm.

"Shall we, my love?"

She silently agreed, taking his arm.

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><p>When they arrived at the small church, Erik led Christine into the foyer but bid her wait at the top of the aisle.<p>

"But why?" she questioned. "Will you not be walking me down the aisle?"

Erik smiled mysteriously, answering, "Trust me, dearest. I desire for this day to be perfect for you. Please, love?" His green eyes were filled with such excitement, she did not dare argue.

"Alright," she breathed. Erik kissed her forehead lightly, then disappeared behind the double doors leading to the sanctuary.

Right as Christine began to worry how she would guess when to enter, the door opened. A comforting voice said gently, "You are a lovely bride, Christine." The warm motherly smile was almost her undoing as wetness gathered beneath her lids.

"Madame Giry! How-when…?" She couldn't comprehend how she had gotten here.

"Erik has his ways. Oh, my dear, I never thought to see this day come. But how I prayed it would for him. Despite everything that happened at the opera house, I never wished anything terrible befall Erik. He always deserved to be loved. But I knew I couldn't allow him to force his affection on you. I had always believed you would be the one to save him. Christine, you are such a blessing." The sweet woman's eyes flickered into sudden worry. "Now you must forgive me, but… well are you certain? If you refuse him now, it will break his heart."

Christine had tears in her eyes from Madame Giry's confession, but she answered confidently. "Yes, I have never been_ more_ certain of my future. I love him, Madame."

The woman who had been Christine and Erik's almost mother smiled joyfully at such miraculous news. Silently she pulled a bouquet of red roses from behind her back and handed them to Christine.

Christine looked down at the delicate flowers. Then she realized they were bound together by black silk. She glanced up to see Madame Giry softly laugh. "He is thorough, is he not?"

"No, more," she replied with a small chuckle of her own, "He is perfect." She linked her elbow through her escort's, and then the doors were opened.

Their wedding was a small affair. The only witnesses in attendance were Madame Giry and little Meg. Though Meg feared the Phantom, she had always known of Christine's love for him. For her best friend, she would put aside her terror and attempt to accept the man Christine so obviously adored.

Both the priest and Meg gasped when Erik removed his mask to kiss his wife. But neither Erik nor Christine cared. They only reveled in the fact that they were finally inseparably bound as one. Once they believed their story had tragically ended. Now they began it anew with a perfect beginning.

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><p>Later that night, back in their lavish suite, Christine fought to control her shaking hands as her new husband led her into their room. It frightened her. She had only the slightest of ideas as to what she should expect. It scared her more than she wanted to let on. But Erik was always perceptive to her emotions, and despite his anticipation, that night was no exception.<p>

He stopped inside the door and looked gently into her wide brown eyes. The trepidation he glimpsed made his heart constrict with compassion. His poor, innocent darling. "Don't be afraid, _ange_." Christine attempted a brave smile, but he could see her chest expanding with short, tiny breaths. His body was begging him to take her, but he resisted, desiring for her to want this night as much as he did.

Erik quickly removed his mask, throwing the article away. Slowly, he bent and caught her soft lips with his. She kissed him back eagerly, slipping her arms around his neck. He took his time, trying to coax her back into the temptress he had seen small glimpses of. Soon though, he was fighting to remain gentle. She was so maddeningly sweet, her flavor teasing and tempting him. With every second, her womanly curves pressed closer and firmer to him, and her fingers began to run through his hair and clutch him closer.

It was when she broke away to carefully kiss his scars that she truly started breaking his control. "Stop," he whispered urgently. Her kisses were trailing across his scars down to his neck. "Chri-Christine!" he stuttered softly. Trying to make her see what her flaming lips were doing to him. "I cannot hold back if you do not cease."

She looked up with desire alight in her eyes. "I do not want you to hold _anything_ back," she said, her voice a seductive whisper. God help her, she was terrified, but she _wanted_ Erik. "Please," she begged, unashamed of her need when she saw it reflected in her husband's eyes.

Erik surrendered with a groan, capturing her mouth in a fierce kiss. He teased her, trailing his lips down the column of her throat and around to her back, twisting her so her back to him. He ran a hand through her glorious curls before pulling them over her shoulder. Carefully, he unhooked the tiny pearl buttons until her gown could fall away. He smiled when he realized she had ceased to tremble, but shivered each time he kissed her. He shrugged off his jacket and pulled off his tie and vest before turning to her.

Her eyes were hazy with the power of her wanting, and it amazed him to see such emotion had been inspired by him. She surprised him further, discarding the remnants of her attire until she stood bare before him. Erik simply stared in awe, racing starved eyes along every miniscule feature. Christine…her beauty was too much for simple words. He felt almost tentative, afraid to touch such gloriousness and tarnish it with his imperfection.

Christine saw Erik's expression fall into one of sadness. "Do I not please you?" she asked suddenly too shy for words. She moved to cover herself, but strong hands caught hers and held them back.

A halfhearted chuckle reached her ears. "What an absurdly silly thing to ask. Christine, nothing could have prepared me for seeing you like this. Please me? Darling you are burning me with your perfection." He took in a shaky breath, "I never realized desire could be so consuming. But seeing you, it has only reminded me how entirely lucky I am. I will never merit such a love as the one you have bestowed upon me."

"Erik," she bid gently, "I chose you. I _love_ you, and no one has ever deserved love more."

"Christine-,"

"Love me," she interrupted, pulling the hands that held hers around her waist.

Erik shuddered down the length of his spine as he embraced the amazing angel in his arms. He whispered softly, as though it were a prayer, "I love you, Christine." Then without another word, he scooped his beautiful Christine into his arms and carried her to the bed.

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><p><strong>Thanks again to all my readers. As I announced last chapter, I am planning two new chapter stories. These will both be Phantom of the Opera tales but unrelated to Lost Love, so not sequels.<strong>

**I hope some of you may consider reading them. If you don't want to miss their premier, please add me to your author alerts.**

**Also, if it isn't too much trouble, PLEASE review. I love them so much. They give me guidance, inspiration, critique, and motivation. In short, they make my days! **

**Also vote for your favorite chapter in my poll on my profile. If you have any Lost Love inspired art or videos you wouldn't mind sharing, I'd love a cover for this story. **

**Thanks again and please review,**

**Much love,**

**~bo-leigh bella**


	19. Epilogue:Surprises

**Hope everyone enjoys this epilogue. I had quite a challenge trying to write it. Thanks to any and everyone who has every read or reviewed this tale. Your support has helped me through writer's block and many personal challenges. Thanks a million! Here are the acknowledgments:**

**CaptainHooksGirl-Thank you so much for saying so about them waiting. I thought it appropriate because they were both equally innocent which I find undeniably sweet**

**Taria Robotnik-A while unfortunately but I'm glad you like the chapter!**

**Nami Swannn- You are ever so welcome, Thank you for being such a wonderful reviewer!**

**Alana Fox-One more, but this really is the last one :,(**

**PhantomFan01- It makes me sad too, but unfortunately stories can't last forever.**

**darkgemwildcat-Thanks so much! Your reviews have been amazing and I hope you will like this final chapter.**

**LaurenvBelladonna- Thanks so much, I'm glad you enjoyed it.**

**Spyagent001 (in response to your review on ch 6) –Sorry about any slowness but this was my first ever fanfic so the entire story has helped me discover and try to refine my writing skills. Hope you liked how it turned out and I also hope I have improved.**

**Sparky She-Demon- I am impressed! This story has gotten pretty long but I am so excited that you wanted to read it so much! And thanks for calling it amazing, I hope you will think this epilogue lives up to that **

**Keedlez- Thank you for saying so about characterization. That is one thing I have truly attempted to keep intact. I love these characters too much to try and change them.**

**POTO3- Thanks so much! His proposal to her is one thing I actually took quite a bit of time to get worded right. In my mind he would've wanted it perfect and I am grateful you and your friend think it is sweet. Also I think it's so nice of you to say my story is one of the best. It makes me feel wonderful to hear such kind things **

**Some random fan-If my story is what caused you think that, then oh my gosh, thanks so much!**

**sheepshanks- Thank you for calling me 'magnificent', you reviewers are truly the best and make the time I put into my stories worth it. And I hope you like my one-shots **

**max-rose-clary-Your review was so thoughtful. I especially appreciate that you felt that I wrote out Erik's emotions and battles well. I cannot help it, he is my favorite. And I intend to keep writing and I hope you'll enjoy my other stories if you read them J**

**I'dAskTheWorldToDance-Thanks for saying so. I find it almost miraculous that you like my story without knowing the characters, but I'm glad you do. Can't wait to see what artwork you come up with (if oyu decide to)**

**Starcrier-Thank you once again for not only leaving a touching review, but being an absolutely terrific beta. You truly make my day with your optimism and always give advice to help make this story be as wonderful as it can.**

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><p>Erik and Christine's honeymoon lasted for months. They had left France to let the Opera Ghost rumors that lingered simmer back into the myth it had been. Erik had enjoyed sharing his favorite places with her. All across Europe, he showed her artistic wonders and geographic marvels of which she had never imagined.<p>

Christine especially was transfixed by the grand operas performed in Italy and Germany. She found their differences from French opera to be fascinating. Erik also took inspiration from their audience perspective, intending to incorporate some of the realism of the Italian opera playwright Verdi. His experimentation with the traditional grand opera was giving Erik his own ideas about influencing the art of theatre.

It surprised Christine when Erik was the one eager to return to France. But she did not know the secret he was hiding.

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><p>The carriage bounced gently up the gravel driveway. Christine smiled at the lovely forest and rolling hills surrounding them. Erik had told her their estate stretched for acres. She could not contain her joy at finally seeing their new home for the first time. Home. Christine and Erik truly hadn't had homes in years. They both had treated the opera as their sanctuary. Now they had a place to call their own, safe from the world's prying eyes and judgments. She hadn't even had a glimpse of the house yet and already she loved it. Her husband sat beside her, holding her left hand and softly chuckling at her rapt expression.<p>

"You needn't look so intently, the grounds aren't going anywhere," he said in an amused tone. "You act as though the land is about to be snatched away from your glance."

Her tiny hand tightened on his, "It just amazes me how blessed I am. I didn't know anyone could be so happy. I have you, and you…," she gestured around her, "You've given me all of this. A real home."

The wheels slowed and stopped. "Why don't you come and see your 'real home'?" he asked helping her down from the carriage in front of their house. She gasped softly. On paper, it had been lovely, but in real life, Erik's creation was exactly like all of his other projects: a masterpiece. It was large, but not huge. Just big enough in Christine's opinion. The stone reminded her of a fairytale cottage. "It's beautiful," she whispered.

"Then it is perfect for you," Erik replied. Then without a single warning, he scooped his angel into his arms and took the stairs two at a time, eager to show her every detail. Deftly turning the knob to the door without letting her go, he crossed the threshold. He gently set her down in their foyer, letting her explore as she would like.

Immediately she found the family room. It was warm and inviting, the fireplace already lit. One wall was entirely filed with book shelves and the furniture was deep reds and browns. She took it all in with eager eyes and hurried to discover the rest of her home. Remembering the dimensions in his sketch, she found the room she sought. The music room was breath taking. All of Erik's instruments were displayed and his large grand piano had been placed expertly in a corner. His collection of librettos and sheet music were arranged deftly in a shelf behind the piano.

"Are you intending to resume our lessons?" she questioned excitedly, turning to peer up at Erik.

He wore a nonchalant expression, obviously trying to tease her, "Perhaps this room is for my enjoyment. We haven't discussed any plans to upstart my teaching again."

Erik glanced down into Christine's face and abruptly grinned at her playfully pouting expression. Then seriously he asked, "Is that what you would like, darling? To resume your career as an opera diva?"

"I simply want to sing again. An audience would be wonderful of course, but singing itself gives me joy."

"But if you could choose?" he pressed, attempting to sound simply concerned and not as intense as he felt asking.

"Well," she hesitated, "Of course I would love it, but I know you don't favor being in the public eye. I would certainly desire my husband to be by my side if I was to resume my role as a prima donna."

Erik felt like sighing in relief, but that would give too much away. Instead he told her eagerly, "You cannot imagine how willing I would be to be able to claim you publicly as mine. I may have avoided the crowds before, but it is different now. I have you to stand by me and if you _want_ me there, I am all too eager to oblige."

Her brown eyes flew up to his green-blue ones, surprised by this admission. She never dared to think Erik would try to rejoin the world. "But, where would I even hope to perform? We cannot go back to the Opera Populaire. That is too great a risk. My desire to sing isn't worth that."

Erik's lips tilted into a small smile, "Believe me, Christine. Sharing the gloriousness that is your voice is worth anything. However, I am certain I can make arrangements to where we aren't in any danger." He let the subject drop there, permitting Christine to finish her exploration of their home.

After the initial tour Erik left her to go unpack their trunks. He brushed off her offer to help, he would much rather Christine enjoy her new home.

When all the clothes and souvenirs had been put away, Erik searched for Christine. He found her in the garden behind the house cutting roses from the bushes and arranging them in vases. He couldn't help chuckling when he watched her add at least one black silk ribbon into every display. When she heard his laugh, she glanced up, a smile playing about her lips. Her brow furrowed confusedly when she glanced the cape about his shoulders and the hat in his hands. "Are we leaving so soon?" she inquired with the slightest tone of disappointment.

"Only for the evening, I assure you. I have a final gift for you. We have to travel only a few moments to reach it, if you are willing."

"Of course," she agreed quickly. "But Erik, what else could you possibly give me?"

"Ah, ah," he chided, "It is a surprise, and I am not about to ruin it for you."

Silently she curbed her curiosity and accepted the cloak he had slung over his arm.

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><p>What Erik had called "a few moments" seemed to stretch on for Christine. But she knew it was probably only her anticipation that made the minutes drag. They were in the city nearest their house. Christine was not yet familiar with its streets, so she hadn't the slightest of ideas as to where they were headed.<p>

Erik was smirking at her constant glances that implored him to tell her the secret. He wasn't about to give away even the slightest hint. In fact she was watching the windows far too much for his taste.

Christine jerked sharply back from the window when the curtains were drawn quickly by Erik's deft hands. She was turning irritably to ask why he was being so maddeningly mysterious, when he suddenly caught her about the waist and dragged her onto his lap. He brought his hands up to cup her cheeks and pulled her lips to his.

Christine instantly forgot her impatience and lost herself in Erik's kisses. They had been married for almost a year, yet her desire for him had only grown. To her, Erik was temptation personified. It was difficult over the course of their honeymoon to keep their hands and lips off each other. During tours and operas a single glance or accidental touch could make fire flash into his gaze or pull her focus to desire.

She was willingly losing herself in wanting's grasp; pushing herself against Erik's firm chest and letting him devour her as he liked. It was when she pulled her fingers through his silky black hair that she realized his intent. She broke away laughing breathlessly. "You're trying to distract me!" she accused, her indignation ruined by her still gasping breaths and the hands that still clutched him close.

Erik's breath rasped against her neck as he whispered hoarsely, "And you wish for me to stop?" Immediately he began a heated path of kisses in the crease of her neck, causing her to gasp and pull him nearer.

"Well?" he questioned before seizing her mouth again for a deep kiss that left her head spinning. She cried out into him when his hands ran down her back and clutched her firmly to him. "Do you want me to stop, Christine?" The words were murmured against her lips, teasing her, daring her to say yes.

"No," she answered in a pleading tone he knew well. Grinning his triumph, Erik pulled the strings of her cape and ran his hungry gaze over her delicious features.

"Good," he replied in thick, husky tones, "because I cannot resist."

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><p>As the carriage rolled gently to a stop, Erik straightened his disarrayed attire and replaced his mask, all the while fighting his desire to tell the driver to take them back home. Barely restraining himself, he helped Christine out. The complete astonishment written upon her features made every effort worthwhile.<p>

"Erik," she murmured in a disbelieving, small voice, "what...is this?"

"Your surprise," he answered. "Does this please you, _ange?" _he asked, still half-way afraid she wouldn't want this.

"Did you design it?" She was running her wide eyes over the beauty that was before her. She had never seen such splendor.

"Yes, it was necessary if I am to run it as I imagine. But every detail was sculpted, built, and decorated with your approval in mind. I thought a glorious theatre for your triumphant return to the stage. I hope it doesn't seem over-done."

"You built and entire opera house for us." It wasn't a question, but a surprised statement. "What will it be called?"

"_L'Opéra des Beaux Anges,"_ he answered immediately, leading her through the massive doors. "Though technically it should be one angel, but I knew you would argue that point. So I went ahead a made the compromise I already saw coming. Do you like it, the building, the name, all of it? I can add anything if you want something changed." He said all this while escorting her through the lobby and into the theatre itself. She stopped, awestruck when she glimpsed that majesty that was their theatre. Row upon row of red velvet seats lined the theatre. The ceiling was decorated in murals of angels. If she looked closely, she could glimpse her face within the paintings. Erik's was only in one or two, mask-less and scar-less. But in every portrait of their likenesses as a pair, they were obviously the lovely angels, and to her delight, enamored with each other.

"No, Erik, I love it. I couldn't have imagined anything so perfect," she told him. "When will it be open?"

"As soon as I am able to hire the necessary directors, cast, and crew. We can begin working on a new opera in only a few months." He suddenly stopped and peered quickly into Christine's crimson face. The emotion had swept so swiftly across her expression he couldn't help but question what had caused it. "Why the sudden shyness? You shall be more than ready with months ahead of us to work." The shyness hadn't lessoned, if anything, it had intensified. "Christine, what aren't you telling me?" he asked.

"I-well, in several months I won't be in any shape to perform," she confided softly.

His eyes searched hers fearfully, "I do not understand. Is something wrong?"

"No! No, nothing like that. Erik, I…We are going to have a baby."

Christine stifled a smile as Erik's jaw dropped and his intense eyes flew down to her still-flat abdomen. She had never seen him so shocked. His gaze ran back up to hers and he questioned in an unsure voice, "How long have you known?"

"When we arrived back in France, I went to see a doctor while you were checking on the house," she replied quickly. "I've been waiting for the right moment to tell you. Since you decided to surprise me today…well I thought you might be pleased with yours as well." She said this last with an undecided whisper. Erik had yet to display any emotion save shock and uncertainty. She had been hoping desperately that he would want their child as much as she did.

"Pleased?" he questioned incredulously, "pleased doesn't come even remotely close to what I am feeling." He watched as Christine, so shining with happiness only moments before, looked away from him sadly. He realized she was attempting to hide the hurt she now felt. _"Ange," _he called. Still she refused to turn back to him. Very gently, he caught her chin in one hand and lifted her face to his. He felt his heart clench when he saw the slow tears she tried to control rolling down her cheeks. She lifted her hands to wipe them away, but he was faster, cupping her face in his palms and wiping away the moisture with his thumbs.

"Love, why are you crying?"

"I-I," her tremulous voice stuttered on her explanation, "I wanted you to be excited, but you aren't even pleased, Erik!" Her eyes snapped angrily when she heard his muffled laughter. She opened her mouth to protest, but didn't have the chance. He had caught her lips and crushed her in an embrace.

"You, Madame, are a highly amusing mother-to-be. No, I am not pleased," he stopped her words before she could protest with a finger against her lips. "I am overwhelmed, elated, simply ecstatic at such news," he informed her carefully. "I am also worried, but goodness, Christine, your overzealous, hormonal response didn't give me the chance to say so." He laughed again at her indignant expression. "If your goal was to surprise, you outdid yourself considerably. A-a baby." He said in wonderment. Thinking of being a father frightened him and overjoyed him at the same time. Rarely had he pondered such a fantastic thought.

"Our baby," Christine whispered, pulling his hand away. Her emotional high morphed from despair to happiness in only a moment.

* * *

><p>Erik sat in box five of his and Christine's theatre. He was enraptured watching his Christine perform again. It had been ages since he had heard her voice sound so enthralling. The aria he had written never sounded more intoxicating than when her ethereal voice soared through its intricate melodies. Every note entranced him more, sending shivers down his spine. At the end, Christine took a graceful bow. She looked beautiful, standing center stage in her lace trimmed gown. Before exiting she smiled softly up at him, and Erik left the shadows to applaud along with the guests. This Gala was their first event, and if the roaring crowd was any indication, one of many to come.<p>

"Magnificent isn't she?" he asked the wide green-blue eyes looking up at him. The tiny round face was already smiling, chocolate curls bouncing as musical giggles filled the air. Erik found the sound to be just a stunning as Christine's voice. He never took a single second of laughter for granted.

"Mama vewie, pwett-ee," she said as clearly as she could muster.

"Yes," he agreed seriously. Christine often laughed at how much weight he put into their toddler's conversations. But Erik just knew how brilliant she was. "Mama is very beautiful, but so is our little _ange_," he said, rocking her side to side in his arms.

"So is daddy," his daughter told him.

Erik felt his heart skip a beat with that short statement. He didn't wear his mask at home. Christine insisted that their baby would love the man, not his mask. As though accepting a challenge, their child had never once acted as though his scars were scary or ugly or even strange. In fact, she had to be taught not to remove his mask in public. But never had she been able to say how she felt about his peculiar face. Hearing his perfect daughter say such words made Erik want to shout, sing, and cry all at once.

"Thank you, _petit,_" was all he could manage to say to the expectant little girl he held.

"You welcome," she replied hugging him affectionately. Erik had to restrain himself from embracing her too tightly. Truly his child was amazing. His family was a constant reminder that his struggles and challenges had all been worth the result.

Even now he sometimes questioned if he could really be so fortunate. But, he had only to glimpse the love in Christine's eyes or hold their miracle of a little girl to banish such fears. She was the fallible proof of their love, that it was lasting and pure.

Erik had been the one to suggest her name. Though Christine had thought it beautiful, she had questioned why he picked it. When he had explained, she had deemed the name absolutely perfect.

He had said, "When I first met you, you deemed me an angel. Though I have never deserved the appellation, I tried to live up to it then by becoming the Angel of Music for you. And you, dearest, were a true angel to me. You saved and loved a man the world thought unworthy. I believe that angels have always been a part of our love for one another. Therefore, they are a part of her as well."

He smiled softly now, remembering. "Our little _ange,_" he cooed still hugging her. "Evangeline."

* * *

><p><strong>Well Lost Love is over. I have been blessed by amazing readers who have given me over 300 reviews and 21,000 plus lifetime hits on this story alone. You people are truly amazing and I couldn't have asked for more thoughtful, loyal, and sweet friends. Hope ya'll stick around for any future tales, but if you don't, thank you for being a part of this one.<strong>

**Remember to vote for your favorite chapters and to add me to your author alerts if you want to keep up with any stories I might add in the future.**

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**And as always, much love to all of you fantastic readers,**

**~bo-leigh bella**


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